


Band Together

by TrueColours



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Action Scenes, Art, Drama, Fraternizing With the Enemy, Friendship is Magic, Gen, Portraiture, Redemption Arcs, Scotland, age gap relationship cw, canon divergent from Eagle Strike onwards, characters have been arbitrarily brought back from the dead because it suits the author, flagrantly counter-canon from Snakehead onwards, guitar bombs, healing through music, top secret evil science division
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-06-30 20:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 121,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15759171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueColours/pseuds/TrueColours
Summary: It starts as a routine protection detail. It devolves into high school politics and a battle of the bands. It ends with brain surgery and super soldiers. It's full of old enemies who just won't stay dead. It's the high school seventies/noughties pop-rock spy comedy musical turned speculative fiction assassin-punk romance that none of us knew we needed.Originally posted on fanfiction.net





	1. Prologue: Talk About Concern For Employees' Mental Health!

**Author's Note:**

> From the ages of fourteen to seventeen, I was working on this fanfic. I re-read it the other day and I'm...actually still really proud of it. But it's languishing on fanfiction.net with terrible formatting and youthful spelling mistakes, so I've decided to repost it here, editing as I go. Obvious errors will be fixed. Larger storytelling issues may remain. The quality improves dramatically in later chapters. Updating should be frequent. I hope you enjoy this blast from my past!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the ages of fourteen to seventeen, I was working on this fanfic. I re-read it the other day and I'm...actually still really proud of it. But it's languishing on fanfiction.net with terrible formatting and youthful spelling mistakes, so I've decided to repost it here, editing as I go. Obvious errors will be fixed. Larger storytelling issues may remain. Updating should be frequent. I hope you enjoy this blast from my past!

Ash sat in the hallway outside the office, rubbing his hand wearily across his eyes. He didn't feel ready for a new assignment. He didn't feel like anything. Since his encounter with the Rider boy, he felt as though something inside him had died. Make that something _else_ inside him. It had been a long time since he’d felt fully functional, either mentally or physically. But this…this was something else. He kept thinking of the disgust that had filled Alex's face as he learned the truth. It wasn't remorse he was feeling, just a deep sense of lethargy, almost despair. A desire for this whole mess called life to be over.

His stomach twinged. _Not now_ , he moaned in his head. He didn't have the strength to deal with the pain, or with anything else.

Somewhere, a clock chimed three. That was the time for his meeting. He stepped forward, feeling a flicker of apprehension. He had failed again. First with MI6 and now with Scorpia. Major Winston Yu was dead, Operation Deep Blue thwarted, Yu’s Snakehead and Ash’s cover with the ASIS in tatters. But not all of that could be blamed on him, surely? He was finished as an undercover agent, but he could still be useful in any number of ways...if only he could shake off this mind-numbing heaviness...

_Scorpia never forgets. Scorpia never forgives._

He entered the office. Two people were sitting behind a smoked glass table. One was Julia Rothman, and Ash felt a little relieved. She too had lost to the Rider boy. She was a woman, the only woman on the executive board. She would be merciful. The other person was Doctor Three, the world expert on torture. Slowly Ash took his seat. His superiors gazed serenely into the middle distance and refused to speak. Finally Ash growled:

'You have an assignment for me?'

‘Ah, Ash,' Julia Rothman said, blinking and refocussing on him as though she had only just noticed he was there. 'The assignment is a simple assassination. Routine. But before we begin with the briefing, I would like to introduce you to your partner for the mission.'

'If the job's so easy, why do I need a partner?'

'Ash, please. As soon as he arrives, I will explain everything.'

Ash waited. Behind him, the minute hand on the clock reached five past. The door opened once again.

Ash saw the man framed in the doorway, and hope died. It was Yassen Gregorovich. So they knew. They knew his mental state. They knew he had failed. And now they were going to play with him, watch him suffer with this man who had ruined his life. This was the beginning of the end.

Yassen slid into the chair next to him and Ash suppressed a shudder. He glowered at the woman across the table. There would be no mercy from her. She was a snake, a demon. She was smiling.

'To answer your question, Ash. Firstly, Mr Gregorovich was recently injured in the field. This assignment will allow us to be sure that he is fit for operations.' Yassen stared indifferently ahead. 'Secondly, this mission should be risk free, but there is one complication. The death must seem accidental. And the more guns in one town, the more accidents will happen.' She sighed theatrically.

Ash watched Yassen, his eyes black with hate. So he’d been hurt? Good. _How does it feel, Gregorovich?_ he thought. _How does it feel to be robbed of your health in the prime of life? It's what you deserve._

'Who is the target?' Yassen asked.

'Have you ever heard of Clara Foster?' Doctor Three said. He produced a colour photograph and slid it across the table. It showed a girl of sixteen or seventeen, with thick dark hair, walking along a leafy road. The girl was in school uniform. She was half-turned, mouth open as if to speak. She might have been talking to the tall, brown-haired figure half-in and half-out of the picture. It was hard to tell; all the other people in the photograph were blurred.

‘You don’t need to worry about him,’ Doctor Three said, noticing Ash peering at the blurred boy in the foreground. ‘This photograph was taken as the target was coming out of school. The other figures are merely classmates.’

'What has she done?' Ash managed. He knew he was capable of killing a teenager, yet for some reason he felt sick.

'She is a writer and poet. Not particularly wealthy, but she has published a novel which has gained her a little notice in the literary supplements – largely due to her age – and this in turn has drawn attention to her other published work: a volume of poetry. It is the political commentary contained in this poetry which has upset our client.'

'Some poetry,' muttered Ash.

'The man is a fanatic, certainly, but he has the money to pay and that is what matters to us. The content of Foster’s books and our client’s opinions are irrelevant. Let us turn our attention to logistics. Foster lives in a small town and she is not a risk taker – no extreme sports, drugs and so forth – so you will have to give some thought to how you will arrange a suitable accident. You will fly over from Rome as soon as there is a lull in our more demanding operations. You will stake out her school and her home, and watch for an opportunity. Run her over or something.' Rothman and Doctor Three stood simultaneously.

'I have prepared a file for each of you,' Rothman said, handing each of them a folder. 'That is all. You may leave us.'

Yassen took his folder and rose fluidly. Ash stared in disappointment. The man was nowhere near dead. He was older, seasoned and cold. More deadly than ever. But as he turned away, Ash caught something in his eyes: the merest flicker of doubt. _Just you wait, Gregorovich,_ he thought. _You may have survived unscathed this time, but you're first serious injury always leaves its mark. You were a young man, and now you're not. From now on, your nerve will fail. It's the beginning of the end._

Both men stepped out into the September sun, and hurried away from each other as quickly as possible.

Miles away, in England, Clara Foster was practising the piano.


	2. Living Hell

Alex was seething. Why had he even got in the car in the first place? When the black Mercedes with its tinted glass had pulled up outside his school as he was unlocking his bike, he should have ignored it and cycled like hell. MI6 might be comprised entirely of jerks, but they wouldn't really gun him down with a stun dart in broad daylight.

Alex glanced sideways at the burly, cold-eyed driver sitting next to him and sighed. _Forget it,_ he thought. _Of course they would_.

Well, he might have got into MI6’s car, but there was absolutely no way he was accepting anything they suggested. What was the worst they could do? Send him to a children's home, like they had threatened the first time? That would be a relief compared to that room in Bancok.

Inwardly, Alex winced. _Don't even go there._

Fifteen minutes later he and his escort were walking up the windowless corridor to Blunt's office.

'In you go,' said the man accompanying him, and left. Alex didn't take a chance. He went in firing.

'What the hell are you playing at Blunt? I told you no, you're always dragging me into this and it's pure hell each time, well I don't think anything you can do will be worse than sitting around waiting for them to slice off bits of you to sell, and if you try to make me I'll say no, I'll sell you to Scorpia, I'll...'

He slightly ran out of steam at this point, and flopped into the chair in front of him.

'And now,' said Blunt, ‘if you are quite done, let me run over the mission.'

'Not doing it.'

'You won't even have to come out of school, Alex,' Mrs Jones soothed.

'Oh yeah?'

'Listen, Alex. We want you to go in and keep an eye on a school girl for us.’

‘What? As in, a Point Blanc kind of schoolgirl?’

Mrs Jones shook her head briefly. ‘She attends a state school in Essex, not far from London. She's published some writing that has got some people annoyed...'

Alex listened in disbelief as Mrs Jones explained.

'So why can't you just send in an ordinary agent to tail her?' he cut in finally.

'Because it would be difficult to put him into the school without anyone noticing.'

'So let them notice! Assign her a bodyguard.'

'We could do that, yes. But you see, Alex, we were rather hoping to catch the assassin sent after her.'

'Catch them?'

'Catch or kill,’ Mrs Jones said. ‘Which is why we will be giving you a gun.'

Alex sat up a little straighter. 'A gun? That's a departure from tradition, isn't it?'

'A little, I suppose. If you take the job.'

'Which I won't.'

'So that's it?’ Mr Blunt said. ‘You're going to leave a young girl to fend for herself against a criminal organisation?'

Alex snorted. 'Emotional blackmail isn’t going to work. It’s not like I’m your only option; you said yourself that you could just as well use an ordinary agent...wait a minute! Criminal organisation? As in SCORPIA?'

'I have often said you have the mind of a spy, Alex,' Blunt remarked.

'You're a headcase, Blunt,' Alex said. Blunt sighed.

'And we will, of course, be paying you.'

Alex blinked in shock. Money was tight at home, he knew. Ian had left him with a sizable capital, but there had been no income since he had been killed. Jack was reluctant to discuss it with him, though now he’d turned seventeen it was going to be his responsibility sooner rather than later. There was food on the table and the bills got paid, but Alex suspected her salary didn’t.

'How much?' he demanded.

'Name your price, Alex.'

'A hundred thousand.'

'Considering the number of operations you have completed for us, that seems…not unreasonable.'

Alex shook his head in disbelief. How could this be happening again?

'So will you accept the contract?' Blunt slid a sheaf of legal documents and a gleaming pen towards him. Alex hesitated.

'You'll be in no danger, Alex,' Mrs Jones reassured him. 'They're sure to send only a junior assassin on a simple assignment like this, and such an agent won't even know who you are.'

'And you want me to shoot the guy, right?' Alex muttered, rolling the pen between his fingers.

‘I doubt it will come to that. We will be sending in an SAS unit with you, and once the assassin has been spotted they will take care of him or her. You only need to watch the girl during school time. Your gun will be merely a precaution.'

 _Why the hell am I doing this?_ Alex thought. But it was no good. He was in too deep with MI6; deep down, he had always known it. He scrawled his signature on the line and instantly Blunt was whipping the papers away and shuffling them into an envelope.

'Who am I working with, anyway?' Alex asked as Blunt sealed the envelope. It might look ordinary but in truth the envelope was virtually untearable and would need a special chemical to break it open.

'Your old K Unit,' Mrs Jones said evenly, unwrapping a mint.

'What?' Alex yelped. Admittedly Fox and Wolf had been alright on previous encounters, but still...

'You leave in three weeks,’ Blunt said. ‘Scorpia has not made Clara Foster a top priority; we have a little time to organise ourselves. Now, obviously you could just trail her around, but it will be easier if you can befriend her. She is in the higher sets for most subjects, so between now and when you leave you will be given intensive teaching to help you catch up the schooling you have...ah... missed. So that you will be able to share lessons.'

Alex stared at him in horror.

'As to this business of friendship,’ Blunt continued. ‘I think it is vital that you and Clara share an interest. She is a keen musician. She sings in a classical choir, plays the piano and also has an interest in popular music, so I propose to give you a crash course in singing and bass guitar. Just to give you something to talk about.'

Alex sank back in the chair and groaned. He had signed himself into hell. Pure, living hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First storytelling issue: Yassen's injury is still recent, but Alex is now seventeen. We could solve this problem by calling the fic an AU in which Alex's canonical missions - Stormbreaker to Snakehead - were spread over a more reasonable three years.


	3. Not So Bad

The first week of September saw Alex outside the school that he would have to join. Everything felt surreal: the new uniform, the leafy Essex road, the unfamiliar weight of the bass guitar in its case on his back. A group of girls paused, looked him up and down and giggled. God, he must look stupid, with his little guitar and no idea where he was supposed to go. The receptionist put his instrument in a locker and pointed him to his new form room. This was where he would attend registration in the mornings and spend twenty minutes each afternoon working with his form tutor on administrative and pastoral issues – though if ‘form time’ here was anything like at Brookland, most students would just use the time to piss about. It was also where he would get his first look at Clara Foster. He found it a little creepy that MI6 could apparently reach in and rearrange a school’s timetable with no questions asked.

'First door on your left down the second corridor,’ the receptionist said. ‘You can't miss it.' Only it turned out you could. Because ten minutes later he was still trailing round the school.

All the other students had disappeared, and he suspected that he was very late for registration. Close to desperation, he broke into a jog, sprinted around the next corner and through a set of double doors...and then collided very hard with someone on the other side.

Alex staggered backwards, winded from the collision, clutching the door handle for support. The floor around him was covered with pristine exercise books. A groan came from somewhere around his feet.

'Oh, bloody hell!'

His eyes widened as he registered who he had knocked down. It was Clara Foster.

'Oh God I'm sorry!' Alex yelled, kicking himself mentally. She’d gone down hard, and it was his fault for dashing round the corner. Chances were she'd never speak to him again. Fabulous.

'Ugh,’ she said, picking herself up. Her expression turned from pained to mildly curious as she looked him up and down. ‘You new?'

'Yes,' he answered cautiously.

'Well, just don't try sprinting through those doors again,' Clara said. 'There's a blind corner and you'll almost always crash into someone.' She grinned ruefully and began gathering up the exercise books.

'Oh, thanks for the warning,’ Alex said, relieved. ‘Let me help you with that.' Together they gathered the books and stacked them up.

'So where are you taking these?' Alex asked.

'Upstairs. My form tutor's getting the slave-labour going early this year.'

'Cool. Look, do you know where room M4 is? ‘'cause that's where I'm supposed to be going.'

'Yeah, that's my form room. Come on.'

She led him at a run up two flights of stairs.

'I always take stairs two at a time, it's quicker.'

They walked down a short corridor and into a classroom. Inside was mayhem. The register had already been called and the students had just succeeded in tying two boys together with tape, which reminded Alex unpleasantly of his double life. He checked in with the form tutor, Clara dumped her exercise books and they made their way to the back of the room.

'So what's your name?' Clara asked. A student stuck out a leg as she passed and she hopped over it without missing a beat. Alex noticed that the whole room seemed to regard her with a vague air of hostility. Of course, with her high marks, piano-playing and habit of writing poetry, she was probably considered a serious ‘boffin’ or nerd. Alex had managed to avoid that category at Brookland. His results might have been good, but his roundhouse kick was better. Now he’d be embracing it to fit in with Clara. He wasn’t going to be popular on this job. Alex sighed.

'Hey! Your name?'

'Oh, Alex,' he grunted.

'Cool, I'm Clara.'

Alex nearly said,  _believe me, I know,_  but stopped himself in time. They sat down at the back and Alex tried to talk, but the truth was that he actually had no idea what to say to someone like Clara. She seemed awkward too, like she knew the new kid had made a terrible mistake in picking her to talk to, and was waiting for him realise. The conversation fizzled out and Clara was just reaching into her bag for a book when the classroom door opened again.

'Taylor, you're late!' their form tutor snapped.

'Soz, Sir, my bus broke down,' the new arrival said. He had gelled brown hair and a strong Essex accent. As he turned from the teacher a tall, slouching boy stepped in front of him.

'Hi, Taylor.' The boy's voice was taunting but unsure. Alex understood what was happening. For some reason, Taylor’s status in the class was uncertain. It would be decided in the next few seconds. This was the test.

'Hey, bruv, how's the football been going?' Taylor asked. The perfect response. The boy couldn't resist the opportunity to talk about himself.

'Aww, the last game was awesome man, that minger from the other team, he comes at me, tries to tackle, I just dodged round him and he slipped and stacked it well bad.’

'Neeow doink!' Taylor yelled, doing a graphic imitation of someone going flying in the mud. The class laughed appreciatively and the danger was over. Most people turned back to their own conversations. Taylor carried on talking raucously with the footballers for a few minutes, but then he quietly detached himself and made his way casually across the room to where Alex and Clara were seated.

'Hello, Cah- _la_ -ra,' he drawled mockingly. Alex looked from one to the other and sighed. He supposed he would have to dive in and defend Clara and then he would be branded as a boffin lover for the rest of his time here. Fun. He was just about to speak when Clara grinned.

'Yo Taylor.'

Alex felt weak with relief. It was the last thing he had expected, but it seemed that with Taylor, at least, Clara was friendly. Taylor jumped over the desk and sat down on Clara's other side.

'Who's this?' he asked.

'Um, this is Alex, he's just moved here.'

'Awesome, I'm Taylor.'

Within minutes the two boys were having an animated conversation about football. Alex couldn't remember the last time he'd had a nice, sensible talk with someone who still thought he was normal. After a while he tentatively mentioned his bass, Taylor said he played guitar and the conversation swelled to include all three of them. Alex grinned and allowed himself to relax. Maybe this mission wasn't going to be so bad after all.

 


	4. The Beginning of the End

_The beginning of the end..._

Curiously, Yassen was thinking much the same as Ash about his career, though it wasn't the wound that was bothering him.  _Live life as though it's your last day_ , Yassen brooded, as they checked into a B&B in rural Essex,  _is a ridiculous piece of advice, and liable to get you killed._  Whenever someone in his line of work divulged a secret, Yassen knew, the chances were that it would at some point reach unfriendly ears. There was no way you could stop this process; you could only minimise it by giving out your secrets very, very carefully. Recently, Yassen had told a very secret secret indeed to a highly dangerous MI6 operative. This was not his usual practise, but he had known that very soon he would not care who knew his secrets because he would be dead.

Or at least, that was what he had thought at the time. But he had survived, and now Alex Rider knew the true extent of his emotional ties to him and his father. In the wrong hands, that knowledge was a powerful weapon against him, and an assassin cannot afford to give people powerful weapons. On Air Force One he had thought he was living the end, when in fact he was creating it.  
  
Ash's stomach was hurting. A dull, steady ache that felt like his insides were being filed. He stared across at the Russian and wondered if he was totally invulnerable.

*     *     *

'No Alex, second fret. And if you lift your wrist away from the neck...like this...it's much easier to press the strings down properly.'

'But that hurts!' Alex protested, twisting his wrist at an angle he wouldn't have thought possible two weeks ago.

'Aptitude is pain, Alex.'

Alex looked up from his bass guitar at the girl who was instructing him. At first glance, Roberta was stunning, confidant and terrifying, just short of six feet tall, with a mane of tousled black hair, streaked with pink, that fell past her waist. But her dark, hunted eyes reminded him uncomfortably of Ash. She would sit with her arms wrapped round herself and her eyes on the floor, or bite her nails, eyes flickering around, until she began to teach him, when she would become gradually more absorbed and more confidant with it. She carried her acoustic guitar everywhere with her, and would pull it out and strum it at odd moments. Alex could tell it was a nervous habit, something to do with her hands, and it was probably how she'd got so good. Alex felt he'd learnt more these last two weeks, during minutes snatched in the canteen or the library, than in all his torturous hours at MI6.

'Hell yeah, aptitude is pain,' the boy sitting opposite Alex agreed. His name was Josh and, as always, his fingers were stained with oil pastel and curled round a pencil. He was heavily built, and had told Alex that he worked out a lot, 'for stress relief.' Even though it was sweltering in the school canteen, he had not removed his blazer.

Alex was trying not to feel too self-conscious about holding a guitar in the middle of the canteen. Most people had got used to it by now already. Alex might look athletic and popular, but he’d chosen to settle in with Clara and her not-quite-friends. Josh, who sat with them at lunch, occasionally breaking his silence to say something emo-ish. Roberta, two years older, who seemed to have a soft spot for Clara for some reason. And that, as far as the student body was concerned, was that.

Alex was feeling exhausted, trying to keep up with top-set work after his time out of school, trying to learn enough bass to call himself a player, trying to understand a whole new world: the world of the musician.

However, he had discovered that Clara didn't seem to fit in with the other musicians at the school either, or with many of the other high-achieving students.

'They never want to  _discuss_ music,' she had tried to explain to him when he’d asked. 'Or writing or whatever else they're good at. It’s like it’s just a job to them. They’re not interested. This one time, everyone was bored on this coach trip the school choir were going on, so I suggested singing to pass the time and they all looked at me like I was mad! The choir!'

Alex felt that he was with the choir on that one.

‘I mean,’ Clara continued, ‘imagine being on the football team but nobody wanting to kick a ball around for fun!’

‘Well,’ Alex had admitted, ‘when you put it like that…’

‘Doesn’t help that the music department here’s a total clique,’ Clara said. ‘The head of department only lets you use the practise rooms if she likes you.’

'What about, uh, I dunno...Jane and that lot?' he asked. Jane, another girl in their year, had also complained loudly about the head of music having favourites, and seemed pretty keen to discuss almost anything.

'Yeah, but she's so domineering, thinks she's the centre of the universe. Anyway, she hates me.'

That certainly seemed true enough to Alex. He remembered vividly the fight that had taken place on his third day, in the library.

Clara knew the librarian well, and so she and her friends were allowed to relax on the soft blue chairs in the fiction section. Roberta was even allowed to play her guitar quietly, if it wasn't too crowded. Alex had been lying across three chairs, catching some much-needed rest and listening to the muffled sounds of the rest of the school, when Jane and her friends had come marching in and ordered him to move his legs. It was a reasonable enough request in itself, but the tone had stung him.

'And can't you shut that guitar up as well?' Jane had demanded. She seemed to be in a bad mood but, as Clara had quickly pointed out, there was no need to give the rest of them a hard time. From there things had kind of escalated into a debate about whether just because the librarian had allowed it, Roberta should be allowed to carry on, and whether the guitar was a proper instrument compared to the violin, Jane’s weapon of choice. Alex had said, in an attempt to integrate himself further with Clara and her friends, that he didn't think Jane cared as much as she said about quiet in the library, and was just giving them a hard time for the sake of it. Next thing he knew a book, a water bottle and a large folder were flying towards his head.

He dodged all three items easily enough, and was feeling rather smug when he heard Clara scream:

'Jane! That's my coursework, you idiot!'

Papers from the folder were scattered everywhere. Jane was settling back into her chair.

'A ton of music manuscript and all my French revision, do you have any idea how long that took me? No, you don't, you're not even listening!' Clara yelled, and hit Jane on the head with the recovered folder.

Jane gave a yell, leapt up and shoved Clara so that she stumbled backwards into one of the chairs and sat down hard.

'What the hell was that for?' Jane shouted.

'You wrecked my coursework!'

‘If you used a ring binder and filed regularly it wouldn’t be a problem,’ Jane said sniffily.

Clara gave a wordless shriek and stormed from the library.

So Alex guessed Clara and Jane did pretty much hate each other. He'd spoken tentatively to Taylor afterwards, apologising for making the whole thing blow up.

'Jane and Clara's fights are ledge, bruv,' Taylor told him. 'I mean, Clara normally tries to keep a pretty low profile, you know, as much as she can when she's so totally weird, but sometimes she's just, like, kaboom! And it's usually at Jane. Don't worry about it.’

He wasn't quite sure where Taylor fit into the whole thing. He seemed so normal, playing football and hanging out easily with the other boys in the form (there had been no more trouble after his success on the first day), but he liked to be around Clara when almost no one else did. Alex wondered how on earth a pair like that had got to know each other, and whether it had something to do with how the other students had almost gone for Taylor on the first day of school.

‘Wrist _up_ , Alex,’ Roberta said, dragging him back to the canteen and the present.

'Want an Oreo?' Taylor asked, and Alex gratefully put down his bass to take one, just as Clara sat down opposite him with her lunch.

'Sounding good Alex,' she said.

'Watch out bruv, she's got that look,' Taylor muttered.

‘What look?’ Alex said nervously. Clara shot Taylor a withering glance and slid a leaflet across the table.

'Check this out,' she said. 'There's a stack of them in the music department.'

_Battle of the Bands, the leaflet said. Audition with cover pieces or your own original songs._

'I think,' said Clara, 'that we ought to form a band.'

 


	5. Music

Alex listened for arguments, but heard none.  _Of course_ , he reminded himself,  _they are all mad as well._  However, there were some signs of doubt. Taylor in particular was wearing a very strange expression, a mixture of eagerness, resignation and nervousness. Roberta drew breath, and Alex hoped she was going to refuse to have anything to do with it.

'School concert? Kind of lame, isn't it?' she said.

'Yeah, but come on, just because it's teacher-run doesn't have to be a total nightmare. At least it'll be a certain chance of having an audience. And I don't think we should just enter this, I think we should really start rehearsing together and writing songs. Come on, guys!' Clara looked round the table, eyes wide and enthusing. 'Josh can do drums, Alex can do bass, Taylor rhythm guitar, Roberta lead guitar, I can play saxophone and piano, and we can all sing.'

'I can't!' Alex protested. Clara turned to fix him with her eyes.

'You said you took lessons.'

'Only for the last couple of months.'

'Oh come on, bruv, it'll be fun!' Taylor urged. Eagerness seemed to have won out over nerves there. Alex already knew that if the rest of them went ahead with it, he'd have to as well. If Clara was going to be spending a lot of time in some rehearsal room away from her house, he had to be there.

'So are the rest of you in?' Clara asked. 'Come on, Josh,' she added, turning to the brooding boy who still hadn't spoken. 'You're well good at drums; what's the point of just sitting in your room playing?'

'Yeah, I'm in,’ he said.

'OK,' said Roberta.

'Hell yeah!' Taylor cried, always enthusiastic.

'Alright, but I warn you, I pretty much suck,' Alex sighed.

'Don't worry, bruv, Rob and I'll help you out,' Taylor said.

'Yeah, and if you really suck, I'll write your parts so low you can't hear what note they're on,' Roberta promised.

'Er…thanks.'

'Awesome. So, how much music have we got already? We can do covers, that'll be cool, but I think we'd have a better chance of winning if we do our own stuff. Provided it's good, that is. Taylor and I have written quite a bit, just vocals and guitar, that we could polish up, what about you guys?' Clara asked.

'I reckon I've got about three finished songs, they're like headbangers with a lot of electric guitar,' Roberta said. 'I got a few ideas kicking around too.'

'I write songs quite a bit, but it's mostly like rap or doom and stuff, not really what you're into,' Josh offered.

'Hey, it's not just about what I like. Alex?'

'Never written a song in my life.'

'Why'd you decide to take up bass in the first place? I mean, doesn't seem like you've thought about music much before recently,' Clara said, eyeing Alex closely.

Damn, she was sharp. He'd have to be more convincing than this.

'Uh, I dunno. Guess I didn't think about it much, but music just, you know, seemed like something I ought to try.' It seemed Clara approved of this. She looked away and carried on eating her lunch.

'Hey, Alex,' Taylor said, nudging him. 'I can bring you round a chord-book tonight after school, if you want. Get some practise in.'

'Yeah, sounds good,' Alex replied. He couldn’t think of any convincing reason to refuse to have people over to the MI6 safe house where he was staying. He'd have to warn K Unit to lay low for a while. If anyone asked, the story was that Alex and Snake were brothers who’d lost their parents, and Snake had claimed custody of Alex. The rest of K Unit were Snake's flat-mates. But it was a pretty odd arrangement, and it would be better if it wasn't questioned.

It was Friday, and the air was full of weekend farewells as the five of them struggled down the crowded drive.

'Hey, Bobby!' a tall guy called from across the road. A crowd of sixth-formers were hanging round the school gates, smoking and jostling, and next second Roberta's face had hardened into a shrill shriek of greeting. She headed off down the drive at a girlish, skittering run, flinging a quick 'bye' over her shoulder. Judging by Clara's expression, the bye was more than she'd been expecting. Roberta already got some odd looks for spending time with younger students, and she always ditched them pretty fast when her friends in her own year appeared. Josh only seemed to sit with them at lunch for convenience, only exchanging a few words, and Alex got the impression that Taylor was hanging out with Clara a lot more regularly since Alex had come on the scene. Asking them to form a band with her was starting to look like quite a bold move.

'Bye Rob,' Clara called to Roberta’s retreating back, and then 'See ya, Josh.'

'Catch you later,' Josh answered, and mooched off towards his bus. Clara, Taylor and Alex clambered on board the rickety blue bus that took them home, clattered up the stairs and flopped together onto a back seat.

'Taylor, what the fuck are you doing?' a voice demanded with a heavy Essex accent.

Taylor turned to look at the speaker, a tall, hard-looking boy with a cluster of mates behind him.

'What, I'm sitting on the bus,' Taylor said, his voice harsh and whining. The boy who had spoken shrugged and stalked off to the back of the bus.

'My brother,' Taylor explained heavily. 'I got another one at home. They don't go a bundle on the whole music thing.' Alex could see something behind the bravado, struggling to escape. But Clara changed the subject, so smoothly that Alex could hardly be sure she'd done it on purpose, and the rest of the journey home passed in happy banter. They had all agreed to meet at Clara's house on Sunday, to 'consolidate ideas' as she put it.

Taylor jumped off at his stop, promising to cycle over with the chord book later that evening. Clara and Alex sat in silence till their stop, and then walked up their adjacent drives calling vague goodbyes. Alex stepped into the kitchen of the house MI6 had provided. Wolf and Eagle were sitting at the kitchen table. Eagle had his chair tipped back against the wall and was reading the sports pages of the Times; Wolf was cleaning a gun.

'Hi guys,' Alex said cautiously. He hadn't seen either Eagle or Snake since the Brecon Beacons, and things were still awkward, though Alex found himself warming to Eagle.

'Hey Alex,' the man said now, greeting him with a cheerful smile. Wolf merely grunted.

'Should you really be doing that here?' Alex asked, nodding towards the gun. 'Wouldn't want to blow our cover.'

'Shut it, Cub.' Alex shrugged and fetched a cereal bar from the cupboard. All the extra work, both academic and social, was leaving him exhausted and starving. It wasn't just a new set of people he was trying to negotiate, it was a whole new world. He was trying to get into a group whose Brookland counterpart he had shunned along with everyone else, and there was a lot of catching up to do.

'You going to hang out here for a while?' Eagle asked.

'No, I've got some intensive guitar practise to do,' Alex sighed.

'I feel for you.'

'Oh, and I've got a friend coming over in about half an hour, so you might want to get out of the way, I don't know.’

'Sure.'

'I'll warn Snake when he gets back,' Wolf said.

'Where is he?'

'Went for a jog.'

'Uh huh.' Alex walked to the door with his bass in one hand and his bar in the other.

'Oh, and Cub?' Wolf called after him.

'Yeah?'

'There's a spanking new Audi parked outside one of the hostels in town. Much too fancy for the setting. Daniels checked it out and the glass is bullet-proof. Looks like our assassins have arrived.'

'Right,' Alex said grimly, heading for the stairs.

*     *     *

Roberta was leaning against the back of the bus stop, sharing a cigarette with her friends. She was in a bad mood. Her clothing was too cold for the weather, the conversation was boring, and they all bragged that they were smokers but could only afford to pass one fag between them. It this rate she might as well quit and save her singing voice like Clara kept nagging her to do.

 

Clara. Roberta had started hanging out with her way back in Clara’s first year of secondary school. She just hadn’t had the heart to pick on her like everyone else, when Clara was so obviously enamoured with her and had clearly never seen a person with pink hair before. Even though she was such a goodie-goodie, seeming genuinely shocked and disappointed every time Roberta broke a school rule.

 

And then Roberta had failed her AS levels and got held back a year, and suddenly the gap between her and Clara was a lot smaller and Clara was openly criticising her for not buckling down and getting good grades, not just silently judging her with big round eyes, and Roberta was starting to wonder if Clara hadn’t had the right idea all along, gaming the system rather than fighting it outright and ending up with nothing but a handful of E grades and a nicotine addiction to show for it. At least her social life was thriving and Clara’s had never existed.

 

 _Fuck this noise_ , Roberta thought, looking around the gaggle behind the bus stop. _If this is a social life I’d rather be a boffin_. They’d been discussing Meg Stevens’ new boyfriend’s cock for the last ten minutes. She admitted to herself that she’d much rather be at home going through her music for this band idea. But you couldn’t just _go straight home_ after school.

 

‘Want another drag, Bobby?’ a boy said. She took the proffered cigarette, took a short drag and passed it back, wondering what it would be like to try and rehearse music with those kids. Josh she liked. He was mad at the world, she was mad at the world…they were practically best friends already. Clara drove her mad, but she wouldn’t have kept giving her the time of day for the last six years if she hadn’t had a soft spot for her. Taylor was an unknown quantity pretty much, and Alex…Roberta wasn’t sure where she’d got the idea to teach him bass, just that watching someone mangle the guitar was unbearable, and that just like with Clara, she knew a lonely kid when she saw one and didn’t see any harm in being nice.

 

And one thing was for sure: she liked the nickname _Rob_ a whole lot more than _Bobby_.

*     *     *

Josh had mixed feelings about the whole band thing. He wasn’t worried about making a fool of himself on stage, _per se_ , but drumming and a bit of bass guitar were things he did to keep himself occupied, and performing was a big leap from that. And he wasn’t too sure about rehearsing with the others, either. Clara was cool; she might not completely understand where the…more upsetting bits of his personality came from, but she’d stuck with him through it and that was the main thing. Taylor was another matter. Josh had never got on with him, sunny and loud where Josh was gloomy and quiet. He felt guilty about it. All that time last year when Taylor had been lonely and getting kicked around and Josh had been pretty much the only boy in their year who hadn’t thought he was a total freak. But if Clara understood Josh incompletely, Taylor understood him even less. He wasn’t the kind of person who _wanted_ to understand sad things. Maybe they just weren’t cut out to be more than acquaintances.

And then there was Alex. Josh could tell that Taylor was much happier since he’d arrived, which didn’t exactly help with the guilt. Josh just hoped that Alex would stay cool, and not decide that Taylor – and Clara, for that matter – were too weird for him, and slow-fade out of the group. Josh couldn’t quite get a read on Alex. One minute he seemed like the kind of straightforward, cheerful guy Taylor would get along with, the next moment dark enough to send Josh’s worst nightmares screaming.

He shrugged. Rehearsing with that lot would definitely be interesting.

So, songs.

He rummaged on his desk, locating his music book from beneath a pile of loose oil pastel sketches, then picked up his bass and began to strum.

*     *     *

Taylor pushed off on his bike, pedalling hard to get to the top of the hill and then freewheeling down the other side. The speed, the cold wind whipping in his face, the slight sense of danger that came with cycling at night – all of it was putting him in a fantastic mood. Well, that and the way things were going at school.

He hadn't had a sensible conversation about football for  _ages_.

With a bit of skilful acting he could get the other boys at school to talk to him like a human being, but it was exhausting and he could tell that they were constantly checking him out for warning signs.

Of weirdness.

This had been going on since the unfortunate events of more than a year ago.

Not that he regretted those events – not really. If he had to choose between being friends with Clara and playing music, and being friends with everyone else and not, he would choose Clara and the music and every time. But it would be great to have somebody like Alex in the group. Just a friendly, sporty, regular guy.

*     *     *

Alex heard a sharp knock on the door. He flung his guitar down gratefully and dashed down the stairs to open it. There was Taylor, hair windblown from cycling, his face breaking into a cautious grin.

'Yo bruv. Got the book.' He held up a book of guitar chords beside his head.

Alex found himself grinning easily back. He stepped away from the door to let Taylor in. The other boy was tall and had to bend down to get through.

'Er, OK, my room’s through here…' Alex said, leading Taylor through the kitchen. Snake was sitting alone at the table, reading a copy of  _Guns and Ammo._ Alex glared at him; could the man be any more obvious? Snake raised one eyebrow back.

They were interrupted from their staring match by Taylor saying:

'Er…'

'Oh, Taylor, this is my brother, Stewart. Stewart, this is Taylor.'

'And are your parents out?'

'No, I look after Alex,’ Snake said.

'Oh, right,' Taylor said, looking taken aback as Alex ushered him to the stairs.

'Are your parents, like, separated?' Taylor asked tentatively as they climbed.

'No.' Alex felt a sudden wave of bitterness and didn't try to soften the blow. 'They're dead.'

'Oh crap!' Taylor exclaimed, stopping dead. 'Oh my Gawd, that sucks! Shit, I'm sorry.'

'Don't worry about it. It was a long time ago.'

They reached the top of the stairs in awkward silence.

Taylor sat down on Alex's chair and waved the chord book.

'You want me to take you through some of them now?'

Alex flopped back on his bed and groaned.

'I've been playing the damn thing for hours,' he said. 'Let's talk about something else.'

'Er, OK…I'm gonna kill my brothers when I get home?'

'Why's that?'

'Well, just 'cause they saw me and Clara together on the bus they went totally mental, right, acted like I was interacting with Satan or something, and I just get pretty fed up of it, really.'

'Taylor, why do you hang out with Clara, anyway?’ Alex couldn’t resist asking. ‘If I'd met you on your own I wouldn't've said you were her type at all. And there was the way all the other guys reacted to you on my first day, I mean…what have you  _done?’_

Taylor chuckled darkly, staring at the ceiling.

'Oh, where to begin? Well, there was the time I hijacked my Dad's crane – ’ Alex looked up sharply, before realising Taylor had to be joking. ‘And the time before that with the shoot-out at the nightclub…ha ha, I wish. Listen Alex.' He was suddenly serious. 'If you tell anyone about this I will cheerfully rip you guts out, OK?'

 _I would love to see you try_ , Alex thought wryly, but out loud he only said:

'I get you, bruv. What happened?'

'Well, I got into really big trouble at school. I didn't do anything really evil, it was just…I drew a dick on the headmaster’s office door…'

'You did _what_?' Alex demanded, sitting bolt upright. Taylor started to laugh.

'Yeah, that's pretty much what my mum said. Anyway, I was always in detention and stuff, and so were my brothers, and she said we had to do something educational as punishment so she made us all sing in this choir for the entire summer term. You know. A church choir. Like, classical music and stuff.'

'Yeah, so?'

'Yeah, well,' Taylor took a deep breath. 'The thing was, after a while I started to like it. Clara was in the same choir and even though I always used to take the piss out of her, we kind of bonded. Most of the people at school don't actually know about the choir, but they could tell I was…different. You know, from how I'd been before. I didn't like having a go at Clara any more, for one thing, even though it's just recently I started hanging with her full-time. Used to drive her mad, how I'd be nice to her in choir and then not speak to her in school. And you know how people can just sense if you're weird, before you even open your mouth?' Alex was feeling rather uncomfortable; he had a feeling he'd done some of this 'sensing' himself, when he was part of the normal set. _Before MI6 came along and ruined everything_ , he thought sourly. He understood exactly what Taylor had been going through; the cold stares, the whispers and sniggers and leading questions.

'So yeah,' Taylor finished up. 'I sing. And sometimes at school I slip up and let on that I know stuff about classical composers or whatever, or – ’ He stumbled over his words a little – ‘Forget and sing a few bars, because I really like singing and I’m actually pretty good, alright? And I took up the guitar and got lessons and all that, and that's what everyone’s problem is, basically.' He watched Alex apprehensively.

'Uh, wow,' Alex managed after a moment.

'Yeah, I know.'

'No seriously, I thought you were going to tell me…something a lot weirder than that. So you sing, that's not a hanging offence.' Here, Alex decided to tell a small white lie for the sake of the mission. 'When I suddenly took up guitar everyone thought I was totally mad.'

It worked. Taylor's face relaxed into a proper smile. Alex grinned back and, in full clique-infiltrating mode now, picked up his guitar.


	6. Collision

Animals have an instinct which tells them when one of their fellows is dying. They are subconsciously repelled from death and disease, from anything which might weaken them or their group. It is a kind of horror.

Yassen Gregorovich relied heavily on his animal instincts.

As Ash entered their room, he impulsively shifted backwards in his chair, away from the wave of despair that emanated from the other man. Yassen kept his sanity intact by maintaining a mind as clean and cold as an arctic plain, never feeling, every thought a calculation. Ash's mind was a festering mess of hopeless, circular thoughts, despair, resentment, pain and hatred, the product of fourteen years. Yassen never – hardly ever – hated. Hatred was dangerous; it clouded your judgement. Every time he looked at Ash his mind seemed to wobble at the edge of some abyss… it wasn’t that he felt guilty for what he had done to Ash, but it was a reminder of the way people in their line of work all too often ended up, and Yassen did not care to be reminded. And he didn’t like the feeling of revulsion. His instincts were supposed to serve him, but this one almost had the better of him.

'Someone's been examining the Audi,' Ash announced. His eyes glittered with spite.

Yassen's mind was already whirling, dissecting, considering possibilities. Obviously an agent was on to them; who else would have known the car was worth examining in the first place, or had the training to notice its modifications? And if an agent had been sent to investigate their operation, that meant that MI6, or one of the other British intelligence services, had been forewarned. That being the case, there was almost certainly a leak somewhere within Scorpia. Mrs Rothman would be interested to know.

If MI6 knew about the operation, did they know who Scorpia had assigned? Were they expecting two agents as experienced as him and Ash?

Did they know he was alive?

'We shall have to be very careful. We could be in danger,' he said out loud.

'Scorpia will wonder how the intelligence leaked out,' Ash mused, watching Yassen sidelong. The man wasn't slow, but old grudges clouded his judgement. He was already searching for any way to discredit Yassen, his mind not on the mission.

'If you recall,' Yassen responded icily, 'I did suggest that we book in to a better class establishment. Then our car would not have stood out. It's too good for the setting; no wonder someone got curious.' He wondered briefly why he was letting himself get dragged into Ash's game of one-up. That sort of thing could only end badly.

He stared into the other man's eyes. Yassen had survived this long by remaining detached, by never feeling. Not anger, any more than compassion. He killed without mercy and only where necessary. It was when you dragged it out for the sake of revenge or sick enjoyment that the authorities caught up with you. It was when you killed unnecessarily that you left a trail. Ash's grudge was distracting him, and it was distracting Yassen. An angry man, a man in pain, is a danger to himself and everyone else, like a wounded boar that will savage anything it can reach. Suddenly Yassen couldn't stand to be in the room any more.

'Make a few calls; notify Scorpia,' he instructed, shrugging on his coat. 'The target's school is nearly over for the day. I'm going to drive there and look around.'

'Run her over.'

'If I can.' He slipped hastily out of the door and flung himself into the car.

Ash dropped into his vacated chair and rubbed his hands over his eyes.  _The target._ He wondered what the hell he'd got himself into when he pushed the button fourteen years ago.

*     *     *

It was lunchtime. Clara was starving but food would have to wait; she knew they needed to grab a practice room quickly, before they all filled up.

The meeting at her house had been fantastic. Roberta had shown them her rock-outs and Clara’s more sentimental numbers hadn't been laughed at at all. She wasn't sure how Rob's were going to sound; they were so complicated that it would take hours of rehearsals to get them down before they’d hear the full effect. But she was confident, provided their minds on the job. She hadn't realised they had so much musical firepower in the room.

She spotted Alex in the courtyard and waved, and he came hurrying over to join her straight away. They’d barely been apart since he’d joined the school; he shared almost all her classes and walked with her between them, always seeming keen to hang out. It was nice, having somebody who seemed to unreservedly want to be around her, and yet…

She was struggling to work him out. He was OK at bass, eager to learn and picking it up fast, but he just didn't seem to have the musical psych. Favourite pieces, a basic understanding of music theory, a clear reason why he’d started playing in the first place...he always acted pleased to see her, he never made fun of her, but sometimes he looked like he wished he was somewhere else, or just seemed at a total loss for what to do with her. But then, if he really wished he was somewhere else, he was free to go.

 _Just accept that he likes you_ , she told herself sternly as they entered the music block. _Good grief, it’s no wonder you have trouble making friends if you always have to over-analyse them like this._

She could hear the sound of an electric guitar wailing. Taylor, Josh and Roberta had made it to the music block ahead of her and Alex, and by the sound of it they'd got the drum room. Josh had a hard, compelling beat going, Roberta had the amp turned properly up and Taylor was somehow making himself heard over it all. Even just the three of them sounded pretty good.

'More cymbal, more cymbal,' Roberta was saying as Alex and Clara entered the room. ‘I want like this compulsive rattle going on and on all through the verse, and then in the chorus you can really beat the crap out of them. Oh, hi guys.'

'Yo, sounding good,' Clara answered, dumping her saxophone case on the floor and stretching her arms. 'Alex has written lyrics in  _Espa_ _ñ_ _ola_ for that tune I was playing last night.'

'Wow, that was quick,' Rob said appreciatively, turning towards Alex.

'They're not about anything much,' he said, staring at his shoes. ‘I just wrote whatever words fit the tune, basically…'

'They will sound awesome, Spanish always does,' Clara interrupted before he could put himself down too much. ‘How does the chorus go? “Dije hey – ”? Well, I guess we shall call it _Dije Hey,_ then. Guitars, drums and bass all present and correct? OK then, let's go…'

They’d just hit the chorus when the music teacher swept in, shouting:

'I beg your pardon!'

The music ground to a halt. Clara and Taylor exchanged a glance.

'Do you have any idea how much you are disturbing the other students?' the teacher snapped.

‘The walls are thin,’ Roberta said, glancing around with a flick of her hair. ‘You kind of always get disturbed in the music block…’

'I beg your pardon?' the teacher repeated.

‘She’s got a point,’ Clara piped up. Alex thought she looked nervous to be mouthing off to a teacher, which made him want to roll his eyes. ‘Professional musicians almost never get to rehearse in a pristine environment – ’

‘I don’t want to hear silly excuses from you, Clara,’ the teacher snapped.

'Sorry Miss,' Alex said 'We can turn the volume down and practice more quietly.'

The teacher turned to smile at him. 'I'm glad that one of you is able to negotiate sensibly,’ she said. ‘I'm going to have to ask you to leave, though. Musical Theatre Group have booked the room to rehearse.'

'But – ' Clara began.

'Clara, are you wearing mascara?'

Clara’s mouth fell open.

'No!'

'Makeup is not allowed in school. Go and wash it off please.'

'But I never wear makeup in school,' Clara protested. And she got picked on for it as well. Alex could see the injustice of the situation.

'Roberta, you too.'

Roberta unstrapped her guitar from round her neck and swept out of the room. Clara followed. The music teacher turned a cold smile on Alex and the other two boys, who slowly started to pack their things away. Alex could see a gaggle of students waiting outside the room. Among them was Jane, the girl Clara had quarrelled with the week before, watching them curiously. Her eyes followed them as they slipped down the stairs and waited in the entryway. A few moments later Clara and Roberta stepped out of the girls’ toilets and joined them. Neither of their faces looked noticeably different.

' _Are_  you wearing mascara?' Roberta asked Clara.

'Of course not!'

'Bitch,' Roberta said with a shrug. 'Going after you over nothing. You should, though…'

'Please, Rob, I'm not in the mood,' Clara said. Roberta rolled her eyes, and the five of them walked out into the weak October sunshine.

‘So Musical Theatre Group get priority over us because they’re an official school group and we’re just five students?’ Alex asked.

‘I wish,’ Clara said. ‘They’re a group just like us who sing show tunes to keep their hand in between school musicals. But the teacher likes them because they’re shiny and confident and because she’s got a soft spot for musical theatre in particular, so they get first dibs on resources. The world of music is one giant clique, Alex.’

‘Ever thought of joining Musical Theatre Group?'

‘Hah, like they’d let anyone else into their little in group. They said I was too shy to do musical theatre. I tried telling them I’m not shy, just unlikable, but no dice.’ Clara rolled her eyes. ‘The teacher doesn’t think I’ve got what it takes to be a performer either. Roberta she hates, because she's a good-for-nothing rebel, she thinks Josh isn’t serious and only does it for stress relief…'

'Which is perfectly true,' Josh put in.

'Taylor,’ Clara ploughed on, ‘is "going through a stage"…thinks he can sing, but really can't, not to be trusted with commitment, and me…goodness knows what she thinks about me.'

'D'you have to  _analyse_ everything Clara?' Taylor protested.

‘It makes me feel better to know who my enemies are,’ Clara said. ‘I’m telling you, the whole music department is one giant clique.’

At this point a loud, aggressive 'hey!' behind them made them stop.

Jane wasn’t in the practise room with the rest of Musical Theatre Group. She was walking towards them, her violin case in hand.

'Yes?' Clara said warily.

'Can I join your band?' she asked, without preamble.

'What?' Clara said incredulously.

'I want to join your band,' Jane repeated. Silence reigned

Jane sighed. 'Look. I know you don’t like me much, but I've got some clout in the music department. I'm always helping set up the orchestra and publicise concerts and so forth, and I think I've more or less cracked this clique you think is conspiring against you.' She said all this in the same hard voice. 'Let me join your band and I can get you all the equipment and practice time you want.'

'And what's in it for you?' Clara demanded. Alex couldn’t resist rolling his eyes this time at the hostility in her tone.

'I wouldn't mind winning the band competition,' Jane shrugged. 'You're good, that's all. And…' She paused, looking less than confident for just a moment. ‘I wouldn’t mind learning another instrument. Something more suited to popular music. One of you teaches me, I help you.’

‘We could do with a back-up drummer,’ Roberta put in.

‘I don’t mind helping you out,’ Josh said.

'Do you play the electric violin?' Clara said. ‘Or acoustic only?’

‘Just got an electric one; it was what got me thinking.’

'Clara, it'll be perfect!' Roberta said, suddenly eager. 'If she plays the drums in that song I wrote, Josh can do bass and Alex can sing lead and Taylor can do that shrieking in the background that I want. It'll make us so much more flexible, having two drummers. And she can play all that cool violin-synth stuff…'

'Look,' Clara said. 'I can get along with you, Jane. I can listen to your points of view and make compromises. Can you…can you do the same?'

'Can I do what you say, essentially?' Jane finished wryly.

‘I mean,’ Clara said, ‘this band _was_ my idea, and these _are_ my friends. So I think it’s reasonable if I ask to take the lead.’

'I suppose it is,’ Jane said crisply. ‘Yes, I can.'

'Then you’re in,' Clara growled. 'Guys, you want to get some lunch?'

*     *     *

Clara seemed stressed and anxious during lunch, and Alex could imagine why. Rehearsals were hardly likely to run smoothly with Jane in the band. But beyond that, Alex sensed that while the others didn’t really know Jane, they didn’t detest her the way Clara did. If it came to a quarrel between the two of them, he wasn’t sure who the others would side with. He winced internally at the thought of Clara having just pulled this group of acquaintances together into a band, only to have them team up with Jane instead because she had better music block access. Clara might not be the friend he’d have chosen, but he still wouldn’t wish that on her. Not to mention that he’d have to stick with her no matter what.

He’d better try to keep the peace, then.

Taylor was messing about on his phone, trying to look nonchalant, but he kept glancing anxiously at Clara. Roberta fiddled with her fork. Josh was the only one who seemed unaffected by the atmosphere; he just sat back in his chair sketching Alex's set face on the back of his coursework. The bell rang and Alex and Clara headed for fifth period and an hour of incomprehensible chemistry theory.

Clara seemed to have sensed that she had an ally in him. She had a new comment to whisper to him every time the teacher let them talk, tentatively positive about Jane one minute, worried the next. As soon as the bell rang for the end of the day she launched into a full scale analysis, continuing all the way down the stairs and out of the school gates. Alex tried to tune her out. His mind was drifting back to the shiny new Audi K Unit had seen. He couldn’t afford to lose sight of what the real mission was.

'So what do you think?' Clara asked, nudging him as they reached the road, full of busses and parents’ cars manoeuvring.

'Look, I don't really care,' Alex admitted.

‘Well fine then, no need to be so – '

'God, does it ever occur to you that I might have bigger problems than Jane?' he snapped suddenly. 'That _you_ might have bigger problems than Jane?'

With that, Alex stepped into the road –

Straight in front of a speeding car.

'Alex!' Clara screamed. And then she did about the most stupid thing she could have done. She plunged after him.

She managed to get a hand around his elbow just as he stopped dead in the middle of the lane. She crashed into him and they both staggered. For a moment everything was chaos, a mess of trees and road and sky in which the squeal of breaks was all-consuming. Then Clara’s eyes found the white line in the middle of the road, and the world steadied round it. Adrenaline was coursing through her, and for a moment she could see everything. The frost flowers lacing the bonnet of the car, the silver hoops of its Audi logo, and the sharp black tread of the tyre, squatting uncompromisingly six inches from her foot.

The driver's face was blank. Still in shock. But his eyes were burning as he stared at Alex. Alex stared back, and his face drained of colour. Clara clenched her hand tighter on his arm, supporting him, but he didn't seem to notice at all. His eyes were still locked on the driver's, and, bizarrely, she felt cut out. It was as though they were locked in their own silent moment of communication, as impenetrable as bullet-proof glass. She could only watch.

Then Alex whipped round, seized her in a vice-like grip and pushed her back towards the school. Around them the scene had barely changed. Another day, another dumb kid almost diving in front of a car. He didn’t look back to see if the Audi had moved.

‘Alex, what the hell?’ Clara demanded. Alex didn’t answer. He drove her on.


	7. Reappearance

'Yassen Gregorovich,' Alex yelled, bursting into the kitchen of his house.

Wolf spat out a mouthful of coffee and yelled,

‘WHAT?'

'Yassen Gregorovich. Is here. To kill. Clara.'

'He was on the list of guys they warned us about when we completed training,' Eagle exclaimed. 'Most wanted, most dangerous. But he's…'

'Dead? I know, I saw it. But he's here now.'

'Where did you see him, Cub?' asked Fox.

'He nearly ran me and Clara over after school today. And that's the other bad thing. I dragged Clara back into the school and now she won't drop it…'

'We'll worry about the girl tomorrow,' Wolf snapped. Something about the way he referred to Clara put Alex on the defensive, but he stayed silent. 'MI6 said there were two assassins. Did you see anyone else?'

'Only one in the car.'

'Why would they send  _Gregorovich_  on a hit like this?' Snake burst out suddenly.

'That doesn't matter,' Alex said bitterly. 'The point is, it explains why MI6 sent _us_.'

'What do you mean?'

'Don't you think it's a bit odd?' Alex half-shouted, he was so angry. 'Them sending a full SAS unit and…me, just to prevent a minor assassination? They gave us orders to kill the assassin, didn't they? Well, obviously they want us to take out Yassen and whatever psycho he's got with him. I  _knew_  there had to be something Blunt wasn't telling me,' Alex fumed.

'Little paranoid Cub,' Eagle muttered wryly.

'Trust me, they always tell me my missions are easy, routine, and it always turns out to be some guy blowing up the world.'

'We need to find out what we're up against,' Wolf announced. 'Go to their hotel and look around.'

'Tonight,' Snake added. ‘If they’ve IDed Cub, they might move their base or up their security.'

'Tonight, then,' Wolf confirmed. 'Cub, I'm not sure you…'

'Of course I'm bloody coming!' Alex snapped.

'Fine, fine,' Wolf growled. 'We’ll go in after dark. And our orders were not exactly to kill the assassin, they were to capture or kill. So tonight will be a surveillance operation only. We'll see if the other guy is a known, check out what kind of heat they’re packing; you know the drill. And don’t attract attention. British government sending out agents with instructions to kill is not something the public need to know about. We can't just barge in and start shooting.'

'Sir Yes _Sir_!' Eagle yelled. Alex liked Eagle; the man hadn't lost his sense of humour like some of these pretentious SAS men.

*     *     *

'Alex Rider,' Yassen stated. Ash simply stared at him.

'They sent Alex,' Yassen clarified.

'How do you know?'

'I saw him,' Yassen explained, resisting the urge to add 'obviously'. He'd been feeling tense and strung-out the last few days, and it was more difficult than usual to keep his emotions under wraps, especially with Ash constantly provoking him. Yassen surreptitiously rubbed a hand over his eyes. The truth was he had felt uncertain ever since his…accident…during the Eagle Strike operation. He hoped that completing this assignment would restore his confidence. 'I nearly ran him and the target over outside the school gates.'

'You  _nearly_  ran them over?' Ash repeated. Yassen froze, realising his blunder. 'If you'd hit them the assignment would already be over. You're not telling me you  _braked_?'

'Reflex reaction,' Yassen muttered. He tried to change the subject, to move on to practical matters.

'Now that they know one of us is dangerous, Alex and whoever else is watching the target are sure to pay a visit. We need to be constantly on guard now, more than ever.'

'Thank you for sharing your groundbreaking insights, Gregorovich,' Ash sneered. 'Why don't we just change hotels?'

'Of course,' Yassen bluffed. No need to let on that he hadn’t already thought of that. 'I shall call Mrs Rothman to notify her.' As he turned away he heard Ash mutter something about 'tied to that woman’s apron strings'.

Yassen walked into his room and picked up his suitcase, laying it on the bed. On top were regimented layers of shirts and trousers, a bottle of Listerine mouthwash, the normal things you would expect a businessman to be carrying. He lifted the clothes out, stacking them beside him, and removed the bottom of the case. Here were guns, a knife, the brown mobile phone which Alex had used to link him to Damian Cray – another stupid mistake, exploited by a brilliant agent – two photographs and a violin case.

He didn't spare a glance for the photographs. He knew what they would show him and didn't want to see it. He did brush his hands briefly over the violin, but didn't get it out. He hadn't played for over a year and he'd forgotten it was even in the case. Anyway, now was hardly the time to practice. He fished out the mobile and hit speed dial. Straight to Julia Rothman.

'Yassen?' Rothman's smooth voice came on the line. She always liked to use her employees’ first names. In the short term it inspired trust, in the long term it gave the listener a sense that she knew all about them, was twisted into their life, and finally it desensitised people to their own name, so that it could never be used as a tool against them.

'MI6 have put Alex Rider in against us,' he said without preamble. 'We believe he is working with assistance from at least one other agent – Agent Howell saw somebody investigating our car. I propose we relocate.'

‘Yassen,' she purred, 'you will not relocate. If Alex Rider comes calling you will kill him and anyone who might accompany him. You will, however, exercise discretion in order to avoid questions. Your original instructions have not changed. Any questions?' Her voice flicked up to a light, deadly note at the end.

'No, Mrs Rothman.'

'Good night, Yassen.'

The phone went dead.

Yassen stood still for a minute, eyes closed, fingers curled around the phone. His breathing was accelerating. He felt panicky. Yassen gasped and his eyes shot open as a wave of horror and despair gripped him. And that forbidden feeling, hatred. The knife was in his hand…

Yassen looked down and saw the phone, his knuckles clenched to whiteness around it. There was no emotion once again; he looked for it but couldn't find it. The feeling had gone as suddenly as it had arrived.

'You think they'll come tonight?' Ash said from the doorway.

'I am certain of it.'

'Lets get ready for a fight, then.'

Yassen nodded silently, mind racing. But he could find no answer.

*     *     *

Alex sat, stomach churning, in the back of K Unit's Jeep, a seven-seater beast. He was dressed entirely in black, with a tiny earpiece attached to his ear. It was after eleven o'clock at night…not that it was any use expecting Yassen to be asleep. But the streets were almost empty. If they were going to carry out their operations unnoticed, now was the best time.

Alex wound down his window as far as it would go, hoping the night air would clear his head. He tried to remember how he'd felt about Yassen before seeing him in that car. Before Air Force One, Alex had considered the Russian to be his worst enemy. He had promised to kill him. And the man's posthumous effects on his life had been far from good as well: the whole Scorpia mess and Ash's stomach wound. But the fact was that his last memory of Yassen was a positive one, if only just. He had told the truth, or his version of it, anyway. There had been no pretences in the cabin that day, just a dead man's last words, and the best window into his father's life Alex had ever been offered. Alex grimaced as he realised that the Yassen of his imagination had become almost like a mentor, his father's friend. A blurred and softened version of himself. Alex recalled the frantic squeal of brakes on the road that afternoon. Intentional or reflex? Alex snorted mentally. The man was a cold-blooded killer.

They parked the car half a mile from the hotel and ran the rest of the way. Alex's chest twinged a little from the old sniper wound, but he said nothing. They halted one street away and stood, breathing deeply, utterly serious.

'Right,' Wolf breathed. 'Fox and I will go in. Plant a camera in the hall, and a microphone outside their door. Eagle and Snake, I want you stationed round the back. You need to try and actually get a look through the window, get a description of this other person. The bugs will tell us if they leave, so we'll be able to take a look inside the rooms then. Cub, I want you to stay in the street. Keep an eye out for civilians and notify us if anyone gets too close. OK?'

Alex knew he'd been given the easiest job, but he didn't argue. He knew what they were up against – perhaps better than any of them – and he couldn’t blame Wolf for wanting to keep him as much out of it as possible. He also knew that he probably had the best chance of surviving Yassen once he got going, but that wasn't really something he felt like sharing with K Unit.

His thumb throbbed. He had been practicing his bass lines almost until it was time to leave, keeping his nerves down. He was kind of getting the hang of it; it could even be fun, finally nailing some tricky fingering, like a watered-down version of the triumph when you carry out a football manoeuvre, perfectly.

'Why do you like singing so much?' he'd asked Clara earlier that week.

'Well…I dunno really, it's just like…well, when you sing in a choir, sing some really loud piece, and you throw your whole self into it and just sing as loud as you can, and then sometimes it feels like the whole noise of the choir is coming out of your mouth, and it's really the biggest high in the world. Of course in a small choir like my church one it gets to the point where most of the noise  _is_  coming out of your mouth, which isn't quite the same thing…'

Wolf signalled and disappeared into the hotel. Alex abandoned his memories and concentrated, his eyes skimming the alley. He waited for five minutes, never once relaxing his vigil, but nothing happened. He sighed slightly and was about to kick a pebble when he saw something. A flicker of movement. Someone approaching.

It was very cold. Alex's breath steamed in the air in front of him, and he could see regular puffs of fog that marked the other person's breathing. Alex pressed himself into the wall. A swift, graceful gait, the body of a dancer, face illuminated briefly by the street lamps…Yassen Gregorovich paused, glanced briefly around and entered the hotel.

Alex could tell he knew something was wrong.

'Wolf!' he hissed into his earpiece. 'Yassen! He just went into the hotel by the front door.'

'Right, we're getting out,’ Wolf replied. ‘Eagle, come round to the north side and get our backs. Snake, Cub, stay put till we're out. You boys seen anyone?'

'We tried one window; nothing,' Snake's Scottish accent came through with a slight crackle.

'Try to check the other bedroom, but take no risks! Over and out.'

Alex stood where he was, edgy with waiting. Suddenly he heard what sounded like a cough, sharply cut off, and a grunt from the road behind the hotel. Snake! Alex considered alerting Wolf and the others, but if they were playing hide-and-seek with Yassen they couldn't exactly give him instructions.  _Alex Rider saves the day_ , he thought sarcastically, already running in the direction of the noises he had heard. He skidded into the ally and froze, taking in the scene.

A figure stood with his back to Alex, holding Snake pinned against the wall. He had obviously just banged Snake's head against it; the man seemed dazed. At the sound of Alex's approach the man released Snake and turned. Alex froze.

'Ash,' he whispered.

'Alex.'

'You didn't die.'

The ghost of a grin flickered across Ash's face. 'Not quite,' he agreed.

'And how many more dead people should I know about?'

'This isn't a horror movie, Alex. Gregorovich and I are both alive. Nothing supernatural, just bad luck. For you.'

'And what happens now?' Alex asked, though he already knew the answer. There was no mercy in the man's face.

'It's kind of ironic, really. I don't hate you nearly as much as I hate my partner in there, but this is my job and I have to get on with it. Get on with him, get rid of you.'

Ash took a step forward, paused, then lunged. Alex sprang backwards, then kicked out with as much force as he could. The strike missed but forced Ash to fall back, giving Alex some breathing space. Then Ash swore and twisted round as an arm locked round his neck. Snake was back up, one arm clenched on Ash's throat, the other hand gripping his left wrist. Then Snake cried out and released his chokehold. Alex saw a knife throwing back the flat, orange street light, and black blood flying from Snake's arm. Snake hung on to Ash's wrist with his uninjured arm, trying to twist him into a fresh hold. Alex was just running forward to help when the other three came hurtling round the corner.

'Run!' Wolf bellowed, as Snake gave up fancy martial arts and headbutted Ash in the stomach. He had found the man's weak point. Ash doubled over, his face twisted with pain. Snake disengaged and led the headlong flight out of the alley. They made the car in less than four minutes, flung themselves in and skidded away. After a few minutes Alex's brain clicked into gear and he said:

'Your arm…'

'First aid kit under your seat.'

Alex found the kit and passed it to Eagle, who swiftly dressed the wound. The knife hadn't penetrated as far as the arteries, but it was deep enough and Snake's shirt was soaked in blood.

'Could have been worse,' he remarked, seeing Alex's eyes on the injury.

'Emo!' Eagle teased. Alex cracked a weary smile.

Back in the alley, Yassen – the cause of K-Unit's flight – was resisting the urge to strangle Ash. Alex had been so close to danger once again…but Ash had been doing exactly what Julia Rothman, his and Yassen’s direct superior, had ordered. Yassen had no cause to be angry. 

Already his weakness was showing, taking its toll. MI6 had already exploited it, whether knowingly or not. How long would it be before it killed him?

*     *     *

It was nearly one o'clock when Alex collapsed, fully clothed, into bed. He wondered if he would ever get to speak to Yassen Gregorovich, satisfy his curiosity and ask him what the hell he’d been thinking when he sent him to Scorpia. He wondered what Ash’s presence was going to do to this dangerous mix, and how to exploit the antagonism between the Russian and him. He fretted over whether Wolf had considered the possibility of a counterattack tonight…but his final worry was more mundane. Tired as he was, how was he going to focus in rehearsal tomorrow?

 


	8. Music

'Yo, Rider!'

Alex had just stepped out of the front door, his eyes gluey with sleep, when Clara's voice sounded from over the hedge between their houses.

'Want a lift to school?' she called, voice dripping smugness. Alex ran quickly round and up her drive, and stopped. A sleek, metallic blue convertible was parked in the driveway.

'You like?' Clara drawled, practically skipping. 'I got my license a month back and thought I might as well celebrate. The royalties from my books just about covered it.'

'Cool.' Snake had followed Alex round, and stood running his hand over the bodywork.  _That bloody poetry_ , Alex thought.  _She's already brought all the assassins in Scorpia down on our heads, and now she's going to take up driving, the leading cause of death in the UK…_

'Mind if Alex rides with me?' Clara was asking Snake.

'Yeah, sure, why not?'

'And what in the name of arse has it got to do with you?' Alex demanded, giving his 'brother' a shove. He figured Snake couldn't beat him up too badly with Clara watching.

'Oh, get to school, I've got a lot of work to do,' Snake grunted, pushing Alex into the back of the car. Clara grinned and was about to get in the front when she suddenly paused, hand on the door handle, and turned to Snake.

'Wait,' she said. ‘Stewart. What happened to your arm?'

With a jolt, Alex realised that the broad strip of gauze was clearly visible, wrapped around Snake's forearm. He cursed inwardly; would it have killed him to wear a long-sleeved shirt? Fortunately Snake didn't miss a beat.

'Slipped on a golf-ball one of my flatmates left on the floor. Went straight into a shelf of glasses.'

'Oh,  _ouch_!' Clara exclaimed.

'Yeah, stung a bit,' Snake grimaced bravely. 'I had to have a couple of stitches in A & E, but it's pretty much alright now.'

'If you  _don't_  mind, can we please get to school?' Alex asked coldly. 'Only it's already twenty to nine…'

'Oh, _sugar_!' Clara yelped, flinging herself into the front seat and buckling up. 'You're right! Well, see ya, Stewart. Hope it doesn't turn septic and fall off or anything like that. Got your guitar, Alex? Ciao!'

She turned fairly neatly out into the road and accelerated, the frost-laced trees whipping past.

'So that was your brother?' she asked as they drove. 'He seems alright.'

'Uh, yeah.'

'His accent is pretty different from yours.'

'He was adopted by a family in Scotland,' Alex improvised wildly. 'My uncle looked after me in London; I was born quite a bit later, obviously. When he died Stewart had graduated and was moving down south from Scotland for his job, so he claimed custody of me. We live with three of his mates from university. It’s a bit unconventional, but…’

‘Aw, who has a nuclear family these days anyway?’ Clara said. Alex chuckled.

‘It's pretty good fun actually, he said, ‘only it gets quite chaotic. Like when one of the guys who golfs leaves his balls on the floor.'

Surprisingly, Clara sniggered.

'That's why I was so stressed out at school yesterday,' Alex added, seeing a chance to explain away the car incident. 'One of the guys texted me in fifth period to say Stewart had cut himself and they were going to A and E, but he was totally panicking and he just texted that and forgot to check his phone. I had no idea how bad it was, you see, and I just freaked out a bit. Then I went and nearly walked in front of that car and _you_ almost got hit and…well. Sorry about that.'

It worked. Clara forgot her interrogations and became sympathetic. 'Wow, that must have been pretty scary,' she murmured.

'Yeah, it was nothing life threatening but he did cut a vein. There was a lot of blood and I can see why they panicked,' Alex agreed, considering the concept of Wolf actually being freaked out by a bit of blood.

They'd reached the main road and were picking up speed, the needle passing forty.

'We're picking up Taylor and Rob on the way,' Clara yelled over the wind.

'Gah, it's freezing!'

'Well, we can hardly do the maiden voyage with the top up, can we?'

Alex was starting to enjoy himself. He balanced his bass across the seat and put a hand up, letting the wind blow through his fingers. Clara was more animated than he'd ever seen her, excited but totally focussed on the road. They slowed after a couple of minutes, and Alex saw Taylor running down his drive towards them.

'Yo bruv. Nice wheels!' he panted, slinging his guitar on top of Alex's and clambering in after it.

'Yo,' Alex and Clara responded simultaneously, and they sped off again. At the town boundary they picked up Roberta, who added her guitar to the growing pile in the back and jumped in next to Clara. Clara began to sing:

' _There was a hole, and the hole was in the ground and the green grass grew all around!_ ' Taylor and Rob joined in, harmonising on the chorus, and Alex began to pick up the tune and sing it too. They drove on down the high street ( _'there was a tree'_ ) up the hill towards the school ( _'there was a branch'_ ) and did the final stretch of road in full chorus ( _'and the elephant was on the flea and the flea was on the feather and the feather was on the bird and the bird was on the egg and the egg was on the nest and the nest was on the twig and the twig was on the branch and the branch was on the tree and the tree was in the hole and the hole was in the ground and the green grass grew all around!_ '), leaving a trail of confused-looking people behind them. The funny looks seemed to put Clara in an even better mood than before. As they drew up outside the school Josh appeared. He spotted them, walked backwards and did a comedy double take.

'Check out the wheels, babe!' he yelled.

'Oh yeah!’ Clara shouted, springing out of the car with a wave to Josh.

‘Rehearsal tonight?’ he asked as he ambled over to them.

‘An excellent idea, my dear friend,’ Clara said.

‘Wanna meet in the garage?’ Josh asked.

‘Ah, the garage!’ Clara’s eyes lit up.

‘The garage?’ Roberta asked.

‘The garage?’ Alex echoed.

‘Josh,’ Clara said, ‘tell our bandmates about the garage.’

‘Um,’ Josh began, but was interrupted by a loud,

'Hey!'

Jane was walking towards them, school bag slung over one shoulder and an instrument case in her hand. Clara visibly rallied herself, then said guardedly:

'Morning.'

'Yeah, I was just saying to the others,' Josh started awkwardly. 'We're planning on meeting to rehearse tonight. In my garage. Nobody uses it except me,' he explained hastily, seeing her quizzical look. 'So we can fit my drum kit there and make as much noise as we want.'

‘Ah,’ Jane said. ‘So we’re going to be your traditional after-school garage band? Classic.’

‘I suppose there is a grungy sort of romance to it,’ Clara said. Josh and Roberta exchanged a dubious look.

‘Since you said I could be in the band, I thought I’d bring this to school today,’ Jane said. ‘And, uh, looks like it matches your new car as well?' Tentatively she lifted up the instrument case and opened it. Nestled in the black velvet lining was a coolmint blue electric violin. It glittered in the sunlight beneath their silent gazes. Finally Clara spoke.

'That,' she said, pointing, and for a moment she looked exactly like Yassen Gregorovich warning Alex not to drop a test-tube of R5, '…is rather fantastic.'

'Glad you think so,' Jane said, closing the case.

'And you can play it?'

'Of course.'

'Awesome. So many new possibilities! Josh, give Jane the address, will you? Oh Alex, we're going to be laaaate!'

They began to scatter to their separate classrooms. Jane stood where she was, closing up the case, her face blank. She glanced up and saw Josh still waiting beside her.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Just let me get this packed away and then I can put the address in my phone.’

‘No rush,’ Josh said. ‘And by the way, the violin really is cool.’

*     *     *

'I think we need to take a more structured approach,' Yassen stated, pacing the room. 'We need to know where the target is going to be, and when.'

'What do you propose?' Ash asked shortly. He'd had less than five hours sleep, all haunted with visions of Alex's face, and his stomach was hurting.

'We need to go to the school. Take a look at the records, if possible, and talk to the students. See if we can spot any advantage.'

'Sounds a little far-fetched to me.'

Yassen didn't respond. He knew Ash wasn’t really arguing, just disagreeing for the sake of it. He felt impatient. Ash wasted so much time and energy, for both of them. And just for the sake of gnawing at his old grudge against Yassen. He remembered Julia Rothman speaking to him after the death of John Rider:

'You cannot keep living with your memories. You need to detach. We can help you to do this…'

A shame she’d never had the same conversation with Ash. Or if she had, it hadn’t stuck.

‘Well,’ Ash said. The silence had clearly got to him. ‘It beats sitting around here. Though I don’t know what kind of intelligence we’re going to find snooping around a school.’

‘Her friendship group; her preferences; the addresses of acquaintances whose homes she frequents; her movements after school; any student clubs,’ Yassen listed off calmly. ‘School children have more regimented routines than almost any other demographic group, and we will learn those much more quickly through the school’s records than our own observations.’

Ash glared at him.

'Come on,' Yassen said. ‘If we leave now we can look around for half an hour before the lunch break, then speak to a few students.' Ash grunted in assent, and the two of them set off to the car. As Yassen slid into the driver’s seat, he cast his mind back again to that conversation with Julia Rothman –

He couldn’t remember it.

He knew what he’d been thinking about. A conversation where Mrs Rothman reminded him of the importance of letting go of old memories. But he couldn’t remember the conversation itself. A moment ago he’d been recollecting Mrs Rothman’s face, and the words she’d said. Now there was nothing.

Why would he ever have had such a conversation with a member of the board, anyway? He’d struggled at first with letting go of his past, just like any new Scorpia recruit, but it had been his instructors’ job – including John Rider’s – to help him move past that.

‘Gregorovich? Going to start this car any time soon?’

As Yassen put the car into gear and pulled away, he reflected on this odd trick of memory, and that sudden wave of emotion he’d felt the night before, as well. After he’d been shot on Air Force One, Yassen had spent a lot of time with Dr Steiner as well as the other doctors. The Scorpia psychiatrist had wanted to make sure that Yassen had suffered no psychological trauma from the incident. Yassen thought he had proven to both their satisfactions that he hadn’t. Now…he would have to keep a very close eye on himself.

Yassen barely held back a sigh. As if he needed any more problems.

*     *     *

They found a blue car licensed to Foster in the car park. That could be useful: a car crash was now a possibility. They looked quietly over notice boards and schedules, looking for after-school clubs and other things that might guarantee her being in a specific place at a specific time. Finally they convened in the corridor beside the canteen. Row upon row of plastic tables stood in the silent room. There was no noise except for the clock ticking away the last few minutes of the morning lessons.

'Anything useful?' Yassen asked.

'No. I think our best bet is to take the car and – '

_Bbbbbbbbbbbbrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnggggggggggggggg_

The school exploded. Yassen snapped into combat position and back again inside a second. Next instant they were enveloped by a seething, riotous crowd unlike anything they'd experienced for over a decade. They were buffeted from all sides. Yassen was used to dealing with confusion, panic and aggression, but nothing like this. A sea of volatile, frustrated, energetic beings, each totally oblivious to everything but the tiny group in which it moved, each hell-bent on whatever petty goal was in sight. The two of them forced their way to an empty table and sat, flinching away from the mind-blowing noise.

 _Never,_  Yassen thought,  _underestimate the adversary…never…_

'Oy!' Their table was surrounded. A group of teenagers stood glowering down at them. Obviously this was 'their' table. The speaker, a blond girl with a nose ring, looked them slowly up and down.

'You with Ofstead or something?'

'I…no, we're,' Yassen faltered.

'We're from the Telegraph newspaper,' Ash cut in smoothly. 'A feature. Young people today.' He looked the girl straight in the eye. 'We want a fresh take on what's really making the teenage community tick.'

'Er, OK, whatever you say,' she replied. The children sat down around the table, pulled out various foodstuffs and began to eat.

Yassen let Ash do most of the talking. He flirted subtly with the girls, drawing them out, bantering with the boys. Then one of the girls nudged her fellows, murmuring:

'Here they come.'

Yassen looked in the direction of her nod. He tensed instantly. Alex was entering the canteen, grinning, in conversation with a tall, brown haired boy.

'That's Alex Rider. He's  _lush_ , isn't he?' one of the girls sighed. Ash had obviously gained their approval.

'Taylor's fitter,' her friend said, administering a poke.

'Is not.'

'Is too.'

'I don't get those guys,' the first girl sighed to Ash. 'I mean, when Alex first came – he's new, you see – I'd have said he was pretty normal. Taylor too. They're nice guys…'

'Good footballers,' one of the boys added with his mouth full.

'But as soon as he arrived he made a beeline for Clara Foster.'

Alex and his friend had joined a table very close to theirs. Seconds later they were joined by Clara and two others, a boy and a girl.

'And Taylor, you know, he was always a bit of a rebel, really, but recently there's been all these rumours about him singing, like, classical music. And he and Clara were deadly enemies all through lower school, but now…' she shook her head in bafflement.

'They've started this huge take over the world thing with this band they've formed,' another of the boys told them. 'You see Bobby-' he nodded to Clara's companion, who had long, pink-streaked hair- 'she's a real cute chick, but she goes off and starts hanging out with that total boff…'

'They're just weird,' Nose Ring said decisively. 'That Josh Carter freaks me out.'

Yassen leaned closer to Clara's table, trying to catch some of their conversation Alex was sitting next to the girl called Bobby, both of them bent over an electric guitar. Then a girl with glasses and curly hair appeared beside them.

'Mind if I join?' she asked edgily. Yassen, his mind sharp for any weakness in the group, saw Clara roll her eyes surreptitiously. Taylor elbowed her sharply in the ribs and pulled his bag off the table, clearing a space. The girl sat down.

‘Reckon I could have five minutes to eat before we have our music lesson?’ Alex was saying to Bobby.

‘Aptitude is pain, Alex.’

‘Aww, Rob,’ he groaned.

'You’ll thank me for it someday,’ Bobby – Rob – told Alex. ‘Now give me a riff.’ Alex began to strum, haltingly at first but then more and more rhythmically. Yassen was intrigued by the guitar; as far as he knew it was a relatively new development.

‘So,’ said the girl with the glasses, leaning towards the boy who must be Josh, ‘about drumming lessons, I was thinking – ’

'Afternoon, guys.'

The atmosphere around the table was instantly tense. Yassen quickly assessed the new arrival, a boy who bore a strong resemblance to Taylor.

'Heard you're rehearsing round Emo-boy's tonight,' he began with a nod towards Josh. Yassen listened more closely. A location!

'How'd you know that?' Clara hissed, her eyes dangerous.

'Word gets round, Foster,' the boy drawled, sneering at her. He turned back to Taylor. 'You told me and Jason you were playing football with us and the guys tonight.'

'Yeah, well, I gotta rehearse.'

'You bailing on your mates now?'

'Oh, piss off, Jet, you know if it was a proper game I'd be there. You're just hanging out, you can do without me.'

'Since when are you so obsessed with music?'

'You know since when!' Taylor snapped.

'You got a problem, Jet?' Clara demanded. 'Cause if not, bugger off.'

'Ohhh, language, boff – '

'Jet.' Josh fixed him with his silver eyes. 'Just go.'

Jet stalked off across the canteen. Taylor muttered something, looking miserable. The group ate without speaking for a while, and then Taylor rallied himself with a visible effort and turned to Josh.

‘Hey bruv? Can you remind me where you live for tonight?' Yassen memorised the details as Josh spoke them, controlled satisfaction swelling inside him. He turned to find Ash watching him.

'I think it's time to go,' he said quietly. 'We have a lead.'

Clara's friends had vacated their table and were heading out of the canteen. Yassen couldn't believe that Alex hadn't noticed him and Ash, sitting only feet away. But then he saw the boy give the merest backward glance, his face filled subtly with foreboding, and realised with a sudden chill that Alex was much better than he'd thought. Not only observant, but a very good actor.

Just like John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can see that people are reading this, and I would absolutely love some feedback.


	9. Rehearsal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has anyone noticed how, in the books, Alex doesn't talk much? He thinks a lot, gets ranted at, comes out with the occasional sarcastic comment and that's it. I struggled to work out his speech patterns in this story, as I didn't want him to sound identical to the Essex teenagers he's spending time with.

Clara had agreed to drive them to Josh's place for five-fifteen. It was getting on for five when Alex, slumped on his bed, heard a knock on his door. He was so tired. He left K-Unit to get it, mentally preparing himself to get up.

*     *     *

Snake opened the door.

'Clara!' he exclaimed, his face breaking into a smile. 'Good to see you! I'm sure Alex will be down in a minute. And this is…er, I, hi…' He faltered as Roberta appeared in the doorway behind Clara, his eyes taking in all of her well formed six feet.

'Hi, I'm Roberta,' she greeted him vaguely, looking round for Alex.

'Yeah, I'm Stuart…guys! Alex's friends are here!'

Alex entered the kitchen five minutes later, to the sight of Clara and Roberta, the latter in a miniskirt and pink legwarmers, in conversation with a rather astounded-looking K Unit. He supposed they were both a bit much, in their own way. He couldn’t quite tell if the soldiers were finding Roberta enticing or intimidating.

'Guys!' he said after a moment.

'Oh, hi Alex,' Roberta greeted him with a million-dollar smile. Clara was perched on the counter next to Eagle, who was gesturing emphatically at his copy of  _Guns and Ammo_ , clearly giving some sort of lecture. Clara was listening with a very serious expression on her face.

Catching sight of Alex, she slid down and hurried over.

'Well guys,' she beamed, ‘it was lovely to meet you, and I shall bear what you say about sub-atomic machine-gun ammunition-' she nodded to Eagle – ' _firmly_  in mind. Shall we?'

‘Might see you another time, boys,’ Roberta said over her shoulder.

‘Uh, yeah, maybe…’ Snake said. ‘Um…drive safely?’

‘I always do!’ Clara called back. She walked them to her car, sat down behind the wheel and burst out laughing.

'They certainly seem very friendly, don't they?' Roberta remarked quietly. Clara snorted.

'Cool nicknames, too,' she continued.

'Maybe  _Eagle_  will help me with my Latin coursework,' Clara sniggered, turning the ignition.

'No matter what she said to him, he just kept going back to the guns,’ Roberta said to Alex. ‘Like a conversational boomerang.’

‘Yeah, he can be a bit like that,’ Alex agreed.

'The cultural barrier is surmountable, I am sure of it!' Clara declared. 'Sure of it! No number of rubber-plated bullets can stand in the way of true love!' She collapsed with laughter again.

'Keep your eyes on the road,' Alex begged, watching out of the back window for any signs of pursuit.

'Can do, Alex, don't worry.'

They drove for about ten minutes. Alex was relieved that Clara had decided to keep the hood up this time; it was freezing cold and getting dark. Eventually they drew up outside one of a row of houses.

Josh's house was on the end of the row, right next to a large, rather rough looking playground and sports field. Alex thought the house looked rather grim, dark and pebble-dashed. Clara rang the doorbell and Josh answered almost immediately.

'Oh, hi guys,' he grunted. Jane was standing beside him, sheets of drum music in her hands. 'Jane's already here,' Josh said unnecessarily, gesturing towards her.

'Yes, I can see that,' Clara murmured, eyes fixed on the other girl's face.

'Josh has just been showing me how the drum parts go, while we waited,' Jane said.

'Yeah, cool. Got your violin?'

'Right here.'

At that moment Taylor pulled up on his bicycle with a wave.

'Alright, let's go then,' Clara said. She seemed eager to assert control over the proceedings.

'Right,' Josh said, stepping out of the house and closing the door. 'The drums are in the garage, this way.' He began to walk round the back of the house. Clara followed at once; clearly she knew where they were headed. Josh arrived at a door and threw it open.

' _Wow!_ ' Jane gasped, frozen in the doorway. 'Josh, did you…did you do all this?'

'Well, yeah, I…' Alex couldn't see into the garage, but he could tell that Josh's voice and stance had become self-conscious.

'Josh does it all himself,' Clara dived in. 'Like his own studio. Good acoustics too. It's fab, huh?'

Jane moved slowly into the garage and Alex had his first view of the place. It was cavernous, unfurnished concrete, with a few chairs, power sockets, and electric keyboard and a magnificent drum kit. About a third of the walls was covered in paintings.

'This, this is incredible!' Jane laughed shakily, turning slowly on the spot. Alex stared at the paintings, awestruck. Abstract murals, realistic portraits, demons like something off the cover of a heavy metal album – Josh had painted whatever had taken his fancy. Across one short side of the garage he had painted a life-sized extension to the room, so that the garage appeared about a third as long again as it really was. It was like those photorealistic paintings you saw in optical illusion books, so real you might walk into the wall and break your nose.

'Ain't that a bit of a health hazard, bruv?' Taylor asked, walking along that wall. Josh stood to one side, feigning indifference.

'So you like it?' he asked nonchalantly.

'It’s amazing,' Rob told him fervently.

'It's brilliant,' Alex burst out. He was reacting both to the paintings and to the realisation that it would be impossible for a sniper to take a shot at them in here. The only windows were right at the top of the walls, impossible to reach or to aim through. 'Brilliant,' he repeated, trying to tone down his reaction, but the paintings were so bright and overwhelming that they had left him feeling weak and shaky.

For a while they just wandered slowly round the garage, examining the other artworks. Nearly all of it was done in chalk and pastel, but bright colours were everywhere. None of them were as photograph-like as the 'extension' – that didn't seem to be Josh's style – but you felt like you could fall into them. They were full of little details that kept you examining them for ages, but there was still something left to the imagination. Sometimes Josh had suggested an expression or figure with just a couple of light strokes. Alex found himself examining them minutely, fascinated by the way the pastel itself was layered on.

'Shouldn't we be rehearsing?'

Jane's voice seemed to be jolting him out of some kind of trance. Seconds later Clara's followed.

'Yeah, come on guys.'

'So what are we going to rehearse first?' Jane asked as they gathered round the drum kit.

'I think _Monster_ ,' Clara decided. 'Rob's song. That's the one that was giving us most trouble because of the drum issue and who was going to do what part. So if you do drums, Jane, then Josh can do bass, Taylor rhythm guitar and background shrieking, Rob lead guitar, and Alex can sing.'

'Wait, what?' Alex yelped. 'Since when am I singing?'

'Well, it's either that or falsetto shrieking.'

'Like this,' Taylor said helpfully, and proceeded to demonstrate. Alex watched him headbanging with his face screwed into a manic expression, feeling a kind of creeping horror. 'Anyways, you couldn't handle the bass part, bruv. Singing’s easier.'

'OK, OK, I hate you all. Let's just get on with it!'

'Right.' Clara's words came out in a cloud of steam. It wasn't much warmer in the garage than outside and Alex's fingers were going numb. 'Rob, you know there wasn't much for me to do in this song, so I wrote a saxophone part? Nothing too obtrusive, just a bit of ornamentation round the chorus, if that's alright.'

'Yeah, fair enough.'

'So if we split up for now…Josh, if you and Jane can start work on the drumming, Rob, you can talk Taylor though his guitar part and Alex and I will work on the keyboard. Let's go.'

Alex spent the next hour first mumbling out the lyrics and then, in sheer desperation, singing them properly. It sounded godawful. Clara was sympathetic about that ('I'm not surprised you can't get the feeling of the music just notebashing it on the keyboard; it’ll be better once you’ve got the whole band behind you') but she was insistent that he put some kind of effort into it.

'You haven't been at this very long, have you?' she asked finally. Alex looked steadily at her, thinking about why he was here, and about this whole world of music opening up under his feet, of which he knew nothing.

'No, not very long at all.'

*     *     *

Ash crouched beside the wall of the large, concrete garage, listening intently. Inside he could hear some kid bashing on the drums, bursts of electric guitar, a lone voice singing. He ran a hand along the rough wall in front of him, tracing the long cracks. The building wasn't really safe. Not safe at all. Or so one could argue. Who would suspect foul play if it were to collapse suddenly, especially once the loud noises were taken into account? Who would guess at the contribution made by a small charge pressed into the crumbling wall? The fact that six teenagers had died would only draw attention away from the fact that one had been a small-time author. The perfect solution.

Ash was disgusted with himself, more than usual. Had he really come to this, killing innocent children without a thought? Did he care so little about John that he would repeat the crime, killing his son?

Three would be sufficient, Ash decided. Wait till Rider comes out with whatever girl he's decided to pull, in the true golden-boy style. If that girl happened to be Clara, to hell with them both. They could die together.

He took out a thin packet of explosives and wedged it carefully into the long crack in the wall. A few adjustments and he was done. The charge could be detonated at any time. He clambered to his feet and jogged back to his car to inform Yassen.

*     *     *

 _Shit_ , Alex thought, darting round the side of the garage. He looked down at the almost invisible charge in the wall.  _Looks like we decided to break just in time._

'Anyone want ice-cream?' Taylor was saying. 'I think there's a van on the other side of the field.'

'Ice-cream in October? You must be joking!'

'I'll have one!' Clara called. The light-hearted voices sounded thin and eerie to Alex. He felt like he'd slid into a kind of alternate universe, without anyone else noticing. It was like some kind of horror movie.

'You are mad. The pair of you. Mad!' Roberta said.

'Clara, thou shalt freeze to death!' Jane said.

'No, I should think the heat produced from respiration using the ice-cream will be more than the heat needed to bring the ice-cream to body temperature, so – '

'Shuddup, boffin,’ Taylor said. ‘I wanted an ice-cream, not a physics lecture.' With that parting shot he jogged off for the ice-cream van.

Alex had taken advantage of the conversation to slip into the shadow between the garage and the trees, and pulled out his mobile phone. Hitting speed dial, he crouched down in the undergrowth and held the receiver to his ear.

'Cub?'

'Wolf? Listen, any of your top SAS unit know how to dismantle a bomb?'

'Don't be cheeky. I'll send in Daniels.'

'And Wolf, I think I missed whoever set it by about a second.'

'So they're still in the area?'

'Probably.'

'God, could you be more cryptic? I'll bring the whole unit in.' Wolf hung up.

Across the field Taylor was nearly at the van. A group of about five figures appeared over the fence and he broke into a flying sprint to get there ahead of them. Not a bad runner. Alex thought he'd like to test his own speed against the other boy's some time. Now to guide the others skilfully away from the bomb until K Unit got here…

As things turned out it didn't prove too difficult.

'ALEX!' Clara shrieked. Alex started instinctively towards her, expecting to see Ash clutching her throat, but she was pointing towards Taylor, and Josh was already running in that direction. Alex swerved round and tore after him. Even in the gloaming he could tell what the problem was: one of the new arrivals had just taken Taylor in a vicious headlock.

Alex outstripped Josh in seconds. He wondered vaguely about the odds for a moment – five on three wasn’t brilliant, even if he had had training – but his misgivings didn’t hold him back as he crashed headlong into the boy holding Taylor's head, sending them both sprawling. He sprang lightly to his feet and struck another assailant just above the knee, probably spraining the muscle and knocking him out of the fight. To his left Taylor had recovered his feet and Josh was grappling head to head with another attacker. Alex knew he himself wasn't built for that kind of wrestling; he had to keep his distance, where he could lash out and the other boys couldn't use their weight advantage…he caught another in the chest, but then a pair of arms seized him from behind and lifted him clean off the ground. Alex kicked the boy's knees out and they both fell. His opponent quickly rolled, pinning him to the ground on his front.

He lashed out wildly with his heels. There were a few confused thumps and shouts from above him, then a loud bass voice shouted 'stop!' and almost simultaneously the weight vanished off his back. Clara and Jane had just pulled his opponent off him by the hair.

Silence reigned around him. Alex started to scramble to his feet, and then someone seized his shoulder and helped him the rest of the way up. Snake. Alex craned his neck to see what had brought the fight to this abrupt close, and found that he, Snake and Taylor were standing behind a formidable line of defence. Eagle, Josh, and Taylor's brothers – Jackson and Jet – were standing in an arrowhead in front of the attacking gang, with the girls forming a second line behind them. Wolf and Fox hulked impressively to one side. For a long time no-one spoke. Then Clara stepped forward.

'Does any one of you have a problem?'

'With fucking gay boy back there? Yeah.'

'Fucking gay boy back there has got more talent than all the rest of you bastards put toge – '

'If you  _ever_  talk about Taylor that way again,' snarled Taylor's brother Jackson, 'you'll be eating my fist. You got it?' The other boy glowered but seemed to subside slowly.

'Now go,' Clara ordered quietly.

He rounded on her.

'Oh, go to hell, you fucking boff!'

Jackson seized his collar, spun him round and gave him a kick which sent him staggering. 'And try anything else and we'll kick your asses from here to Hertford!' he yelled as the gang scattered. Jackson glared after him for a moment, then everyone began to gather slowly in. Alex noticed that his lip was bleeding. He sucked the cut absently, looking round for Taylor.

'Y'alright?' he said awkwardly. Taylor nodded mutely. Alex didn't think he trusted himself to speak.

'Headcases,' Josh muttered in disgust. He seemed relatively unscathed. Taylor, by contrast, was already sporting bruises.

'Guys?' For once Clara sounded unsure of herself. 'Shall we go…'

'Taylor can ride with us,' Jet said loudly. 'Right bruv?' He didn't look at Taylor.

'Right,' Taylor agreed, mimicking his brother's fierce tone.

'And we'll take Alex.' Snake was laying on the charm, smiling, the kind of person one would normally gravitate towards in danger. 'You people will all be alright?'

'Yes.' Clara even managed to summon a smile. 'Yes, of course. See you, boys.' She sighed, hesitated for a moment, then began to walk away. Jane and Rob followed.

'Come on,' Jackson said brusquely. He seized Taylor by the scruff of the neck and began to frogmarch him in the opposite direction, but before they were out of sight Alex saw his arm go supportively round Taylor's shoulder. He was left alone with K Unit.

Wolf waited till everyone was well out of earshot before he exploded.

'For God's sake, Cub!' he shouted. 'Could you be more stupid?'

Alex stared sullenly at the ground, wondering where the heck Wolf was going with this.

'We've got a dangerous criminal to catch; we can't afford to hang around while you go rescuing your mates from every yob they've got on the wrong side of. So he gets his ass kicked! So what? We’ve got our priorities! The same goes for you!’ He rounded on Eagle and Fox. ‘You're fully trained, you should know better than to get sidetracked like that.'

'A unit member was in trouble…' Eagle muttered, glancing at Alex.

'Bollocks. Snake, I understand you have a cover to maintain as Cub's brother – you’ve got to back him up in a fight – but that’s no excuse for the rest of you. Because of you and your small-time-gang heroics, Cub, the assassins have probably got clean away. This won't happen again!' He turned on his heel and stormed off towards the car. Alex glared after him. What was he supposed to do? Let Taylor get slaughtered while he looked for clues? What would Clara and the others think of him then?  _Of course,_  he thought bitterly,  _it doesn't matter what they think of me. Clara's just a target. I hate this job. I really fucking_  hate  _this job._


	10. Truce

Yassen awoke with the taste of blood in his mouth. He must have bitten on his tongue to keep himself from screaming – for there was a scream struggling in his throat, he realised. But he’d held it back. Even in his sleep, his instincts were fine-tuned. It was good to know.

It was early morning. Birdsong permeated through the single-glazed window. He rose out of bed and began to do lunges, working his legs and core muscles. Perfect. Now there was no energy to spare for panic, and he could begin to think about what had just happened.

_It was only a nightmare._

It was best, Yassen believed, to recall everything in a bad dream, associate it with the waking world, rationalise and forget. The dream had started off pleasantly enough. He was with John. Not doing anything in particular, maybe training or in one of the slow periods on an assignment. Then it grew crazy. He had run in his dream along the streets of Mdina, screaming John's name until he was hoarse. Yassen stopped his workout briefly, focussing on his throat. It felt fine, so he hadn't screamed out loud. There had been a wild feeling of panic, of loss. Julia Rothman had appeared, her voice echoing, no words audible. Then scalpels, white coats, bright lights. In the dream he had beaten his head against a wall, frantic like a trapped animal, trying to break down the walls in his skull. Finally he had pulled away and gazed at the drystone walls of the silent city, smeared with dark blood. He had turned and plunged the knife into Ash's stomach, felt emotional pain and the pain of the wound, and finally a very real and crippling pain in his chest, which had woken him. His bullet wound.

Yassen dropped to the floor and did fifty press-ups.

When he was done he felt cleansed. His arms were burning, sweat beading on his skin. Whatever psychosomatic pain had woken him had passed; his muscles were in full working order. He was thinking clearly again, and he knew what he wanted. He wanted to see Alex.

No, he realised, that wasn't what he wanted at all. He wanted to see John, failing that he wanted to speak to Alex and train him to take John's place, and with neither of these things possible he wanted to see Alex.

That was absurd. It would almost certainly backfire. The most sensible thing would be to go back to bed.

*     *     *

'Alex, is it possible for you to pay attention?'

Alex looked up sharply into the eyes of his chemistry teacher, who was explaining something irrelevant about alkenes on the board.  _For God's sake, I'm trying to save_   _the world here!_  he felt like screaming, but restrained himself. The teacher glared at him before continuing:

'So, as you can see, when we have a  _double_  bond – '

'Yes, but Miss!' Jane's voice cut through the air for the third time that afternoon. Next to him, Clara banged her head repeatedly into her hands. To Alex, Jane’s constant interruptions had merely been a chance to think about guitar fingerings and diversionary tactics, but he could tell they was really getting on Clara’s nerves. The rest of the class sat, twiddled their thumbs and chatted while Jane dragged the teacher through a series of complex and roundabout explanations. Alex was just considering flopping his head down on his desk for a snooze when his mobile buzzed. He glanced carefully around. Clara was drumming her fingers. Jane was waving her fist in the air to emphasise a point. The teacher was listening patiently. Alex pulled out his phone and slid it open.

_saw gregorovich leaving hotel. meet me by s-block stairs in 5. E._

'And would you like to share with us what you are finding so interesting under your desk?'

Alex looked up to find the teacher staring at him again, along with the rest of the class.

Dammit! It would be a real nuisance to get his phone confiscated now. Slowly Alex raised his chord book into the air and waved it vaguely about.

'Ah, yes, I thought it might be something to do with your band,' the teacher remarked. A titter travelled round the room.

'Actually it's Clara's band,' Alex said quietly. The teacher frowned down her nose at him for a moment and then returned to the front of the class.

 _Right,_  Alex thought,  _time to get strategically sent out of the classroom so I can go meet Eagle…_  

'Miss!' he yelled out, flinging his hand into the air. 'I don't get it. I mean, supposing the fractional defecation – ’ (pause to allow snigger) – ‘doesn't work? And your fractions mix?'

'Well, then the batch is spoiled.'

'And then does it, like, explode?'

' _No_ , Alex, it does not. I shall have to send you out of class if you cannot comment sensibly,' said the teacher, not sending him out. 'Now everybody line up along the side of the room to take turns with this computer exercise.

A long work bench ran round the edge of the classroom, divided into stations equipped with gas taps, electrical plugs and sinks sunk into the surface. The class now pushed and shoved for sink-less areas of bench to sit on while they queued for the computer. Clara hopped onto the wooden surface, swinging her legs.

'I have always thought it would be fun,' Jane announced to Clara and Alex, 'to blow up the science block.'

'What?' Alex exclaimed, staring at her.  _How the hell do I get out of this?_

'You'd turn on all the gas taps,' Jane elaborated while the teacher called ineffectually for quiet. 'Might need a friend to help you with that part.' She paused as the first person finished at the computer and the whole class slid forwards along the benches. 'Turn on all the gas taps in all the labs, shut all the windows, get out and – I'm not quite sure about this part – ignite the gas, and KABOOM!' Jane jumped in the air, swinging her arms graphically.

 _Should I report her to Wolf?_ Alex wondered.

'Jane, you are a potentially dangerous individual!' Clara declared. She slid sideways and fell into the sink.

There was uproar.

‘We’ve got a boffin down!'

'Winch her out with a guitar string!'

Jane stood in front of the sink, laughing her head off. Alex, seeing new opportunities for trouble, joined in as loudly as he could. Clara, laughing too for forms sake, was watching them murderously (quite a scary combination). She did look funny though, wedged into the sink with her legs waving in the air. He felt quite sorry for her.

'Silence!' the teacher screamed. 'Jane, Alex, I am ashamed of you! Clara, get out of the sink! All three of you can stay behind for fifteen minutes after school!'

Was he really not going to get sent out of the classroom? She was turning away from him. The situation was desperate. Then inspiration struck him like a lightning-bolt.

'Miss! Miss, I've got a music lesson.'

'Off you go then,' she said. Just like that! It was too easy! He rushed along a short corridor, down a flight of stairs and up to the waiting Eagle.

'Oh my God, you will not believe this!' he exclaimed. 'I said I had a private music lesson and she just let me go!'

'Congrats, Cub. You've discovered what the music geeks have known since the dawn of time. Seriously, everyone despises goody-goodies, but by the time you get to my age you can see where they're coming from. They can get away with murder. Speaking of, get down and look at this.

Alex got down and looked. It was essentially a tripping mechanism, very simple, set up at the top of the stairway.

'Bit basic,' he said. 'They must be getting desperate. That could have got anyone, and it's unlikely to be fatal.'

'I don't like it,' Eagle muttered. 'Looks like their trying to lull us into a false sense of security.'

'Since when did you get poetic?'

'Shut it, Cub. I don't know what you're on about.'

'Sure. Now can I get back to my lesson?'

'Dude, if you said you've got a music lesson you'll have to wait twenty minutes for it to be over.'

'Right you are. See you.'

*     *     *

'Well, I don't think I learned a single thing from that lesson,' Jane declared. They were fresh out of detention and hurrying for the music block, where the others had probably almost given up waiting.

'I'm not surprised, the way you kept interrupting,' remarked Clara.

'What do you mean? Those were legit. questions…'

'What, you're trying to pretend you don't understand hydrocarbons?'

'Oh, I'm sorry; just because I don't instantly get everything the teacher says – '

'But I  _know_  you do! You've just got some kind of stupid vendetta against her because – '

'Because she's a crap teacher!'

'So wait till parents' evening and complain, don't mess up every lesson for the rest of us. The trouble with you, Jane, is you think you're better than the rest of us, and so if you feel like interrupting a lesson then we've all just got to wait for you…'

'Oh, hark whose talking.'

'The universe does not revolve around the space where you stand, Jane!'

'And it wouldn't make much difference if it – '

'Oh, pack it in, guys,' Alex moaned. A huffy silence descended over them; he almost wished he hadn't spoken.

They arrived at the music block to find the other three in debate with the music teacher.

'Sorry, kids, we can't afford to give you endless practice time, you know. We've got lots of other people who we need to prioritise.'

'But we need to practice!’ Taylor said. ‘We've got as much right as anyone!'

'Listen, when I say…'

'Miss, me and the others would like to practice, please?' Jane said sweetly, stepping forwards.

'Oh…Jane. I didn't know you were entering the band competition now.'

'Yeah, I thought I'd give these guys some support with my violin.'

'Well, alright, room nine's free if you want to go through.' She gestured down the corridor and left.

'Clique!' Clara yelled as soon as they were safely closeted. 'This whole department is one huge clique! Ow, my bum hurts.'

‘What happened?’ Taylor asked.

‘Never you mind,’ Clara said, at the same time as Jane answered,

‘She fell into a sink in chemistry.’

'That’s hilarious,’ Taylor said. ‘Wow Jane, you really clinched it for us with Miss.'

'No problem.'

'Helps to be on the inside,' Clara conceded, sitting down at the piano. Jane glared at her back for a moment before continuing.

'So I was looking through the songs, I made some adjustments to the violin parts, and – '

'Yes Jane, that's wonderful,’

Jane flung her music to the floor. Papers sprayed everywhere.

'Will you  _stop_  bloody well sticking the knife in every chance you get, I can't help it if Miss likes me because you have  _absolutely no_  people skills-'

'SHUT UP!' Taylor roared.

Alex had been trying to avoid looking at Taylor all day. His face was adorned with a selection of swellings and bruises that were uncomfortable to look at, and his eyes were hard.

'I'm sick to the back teeth of you two. You might be so bored you can just sit there and wrangle; well, remember I have made serious sacrifices to be here! So stop being so stupid and let's get ON!'

The others sat, stunned. Clara swallowed a few times, blinking rapidly. Then Jane said:

'I apologise. This is your band as much as mine, and I should appreciate that.'

'Thank you. I accept that you have a right to be here and give your input. I will try to respect that.'

'OK. So…?'

'Yeah. Show us what you've got.'

Ask make-ups went, Alex privately thought it left a lot to be desired. As the one who’d rudely shut down Jane’s explanation of her violin parts, Clara should have apologised first, and Jane hadn’t said anything about making fun of Clara during chemistry. However, everybody else seemed willing to let it do.

Haltingly the rehearsal proceeded, everyone speaking tentatively and being oddly formal. Actually it was a pretty good atmosphere in some aspects. Nobody was interrupting, for a start, everyone was listening to Clara, and no-one seemed inclined to chat. Alex didn’t dare to make a fuss about being made to sing. They got a lot done.

'Good rehearsal, people,' Clara said at last. 'Anyone want to go on a walk? I thought we could go round through the park where the woods come down, just hang out a bit?'

‘Sure, I’m in,’ Roberta said. Alex supposed her friends from her own year group must have gone home already. The others nodded as well.

'Am I invited?' Jane asked tentatively.

'Of course!' Clara exclaimed. 'You're part of this band, aren't you?'

Alex felt uneasy as he followed the others out of the school gates. He was keeping his eyes peeled for Ash and Yassen. What was he going to do if both of them jumped him at once? If one of them started shooting? Taylor kept addressing friendly comments his way; Alex, half-distracted, kept having to ask him to repeat himself. The old loneliness swept over him. Surrounded by potential friends, and unable to get to know them.

'Alex!' a voice suddenly called.

'Oh look, it's your charming brother with the accent!' Clara trilled.

'I don't know Alex's charming brother with the accent,' said Jane. 'Shall we say hello to him?'

Alex sighed as he was forced to lead them over to Snake, who was standing with the rest of K Unit in entourage. However, the SAS man seemed to take in his mood in a glance. He grasped Alex in a hug and muttered in his ear:

'Don't worry about it, we'll keep a lookout. Just relax and hang out.' He glared at Wolf as he spoke. Clearly the popular opinion was that Wolf had been too harsh over the beating-up of Taylor, and the others were now making it up to him. Alex whispered 'thanks' before saying at normal volume:

'If you're coming, Stu, keep a sensible distance behind; I don't want people to know we're related.'

'Oh, get on with your geek mates,' Snake grumbled, giving him a shove towards the others.

'Yeah bruv, come hang out with your geek mates!' Taylor yelled, flinging an arm around his shoulders.

'Let us teach him a round!' Clara seized his other hand, effectively hemming him in.

'I – what’s a round?' Alex bleated.

‘It’s where you all sing the same tune but at different times, so that you harmonise,’ Jane said behind him. ‘The easiest kind of part singing to learn.’

Clara drew in breath and began to sing…

*     *     *

Yassen had been cooling his heels on the pavement for a good ten minutes when he spied the group of teenagers heading towards him. They were receiving odd looks from passers-by, and Yassen wasn't surprised. A group of six teenagers always commanded a certain amount of attention from the public, and besides that, they were singing.

Even Alex.

It was a simple three-part round with an upbeat tune, and as they swung off the road towards him he could begin to make out the words:

' _I like the flowers,_  
_I like the daffodils._  
_I like the mountains,_  
_I like the rolling hills and_  
_I like the fireside when the lights are low,_  
_Singing I like you, I like you, I like you so!'_

Yassen smiled faintly, then spotted the SAS unit following. They were moving spread out, far enough away from the children to appear unassociated, eyes watchful. He faded back into the trees and began to make his way abreast of the gaggle of teenagers. They continued to sing in three parts as they made their way through the park, Foster with the curly-haired girl, the tall boy with Alex and the guitarist girl with the boy who's garage they had rehearsed in. Yassen ran through their names in his mind. Jane, Taylor, Roberta, Joshua.

 _‘I hate the flowers, I hate the daffodils,’_ Roberta and Joshua sang. The others laughed as they took up the altered lyrics.

Yassen drifted in closer, listening particularly to Taylor. The boy could sing! His voice was surprisingly well-developed for a teenager’s, full and rich. As he and Alex reached the start of the song again he leapt up into a piercing falsetto.

'Bloody hell!' Alex exclaimed, leaping away from him. Yassen was impressed. A vocal range like that took some training.

'I dislike the flowers!' Jane bellowed, starting up the song again.

'Doesn't scan!' Clara yelled.

'Oh, you are obsessed with scanning!' Jane said.

'Few poets pay attention to these technical details any more, but what I say is, anyone can write sentences and split them up into short lines and call it poetry, but it takes real skill to make it scan at the same time.'

'Dislike is funnier.'

'I'll drink to that.'

Both girls began again.

' _I dislike –_ '

'What's it for, creeps?' a passing boy yelled. Jane only laughed in response. Taylor began a new song.

 _'It's hard to believe that I couldn't see…_ '

 _'That you were always right beside me,_ ' Clara joined in, harmonising beautifully. Yassen shook his head. They were certainly something out of the ordinary. He slid back a few paces as the dark-haired SAS man glided close past him, but it was safe. As long as he wanted to remain unnoticed, they would never see him.

*     *     *

Alex was wondering if the world had gone mad. Well, if so, it was in a nicer way than usual. Besides, he was supposed to be integrating himself with these people, and if wandering around town belting out rounds in three-part harmony was the only way to do that, then so be it. It was even quite fun. He even understood how Jane had laughed in that passer-by’s face. Causing funny looks turned from miserable to enjoyable when you were surrounded by a battalion of friends.

Of course there would be hell to pay from K-Unit later, but…

 _'So lonely before, I finally foooouuuunnnnnd…what I've been lookin' fo-oor,_ ' Taylor and Clara were crooning to each other.. They linked hands, promenade style, and began to skip ahead of the others. ' _Do do do, do do-be-dee do-do –_ '

'What the _fuck_ do you think your doing?'

Where there had been empty path there were now Taylor's brothers, grumpy, astounded and very much crashed into.

'Uh, skipping?' Taylor suggested, disentangling himself from Jackson.

'Skipping? I give up.'

Jet was standing a little way behind Jackson. He had a football which he was nudging absently with his foot, and now he suddenly collected it and passed it to Alex. Alex hadn't been expecting it but managed to intercept it with his foot. He bounced it round on his feet and knees for a minute – just to show them who they were dealing with – then passed to Josh, who passed to Jackson, who passed to Taylor.

'Oh, so you're speaking to us now?' Clara said frostily. Jackson stared at her incredulously.

'No, we're not talking to  _you,_  we're just letting Taylor talk to you.'

'How very gracious,' Clara scowled.

'Awww, shuddup ya boffin,' Jackson said.

'Hey!' Taylor yelled, bouncing the ball. 'Don't diss the arch-boff!'

‘Pass!’ Josh called. Taylor kicked the ball to him and he began to dribble towards the middle of the field. The others drifted after him.

'Well, here's as good as anywhere,' Rob grunted, walking towards a tree and slinging her guitar off her back. 'If our fish are sidetracked into playing football we might as well make camp.'

'Fish?' Alex asked.

'Any male of a suitable age and maturity for dating,' Clara rattled off. 'So called because you go fishing and catch them.'

'They're all mad, Alex, innit?' Jet yelled. 'Josh, pass us the ball!'

'SCORE!' Taylor crowed, intercepting the ball and booting it into the middle distance (good shot, Yassen noted). Alex went tearing after the ball and managed to rendezvous with it by the gate to the children's playground. By the time he got back with it the others were dumping down their blazers as goal posts.

'Odd numbers…'Alex muttered. 'Oy, Stewart! Fancy joining in?' He could remove one lookout, surely?

'OK. Your friends better watch themselves.' Snake jogged in a show-offy manner towards them, surreptitiously flexing his muscles. Alex fought the urge to laugh.

'What about you?' Taylor asked Wolf.

'Nah, I'll pass, thanks,' Wolf said, glancing around nervously.

'More of a golfing man, huh?' Clara suggested.

'What?' Wolf stared in confusion until he noticed Alex making frantic 'just play along' faces. 'Uh, yeah, yeah.'

'Golf is just a good walk ruined, in my opinon, _'_  Clara said. 'Not to mention nearly costing Alex’s brother his life. But to each his own.'

‘Whatever you told her, Cub, I'll get you for it later,' Wolf hissed.

It was a cold day, but by the end of fifteen minutes Alex was soaking in sweat. He unbuttoned his school shirt, while Jackson pulled his right off. They rejoined the shivering girls under their tree, panting and happy.

'Well, I'm glad to see  _some_  of us are warm,' Jane remarked sourly. Jet grinned.

'Want me to warm you up, baby?' Jackson asked. Jane threw a stick at him.

'What about you, Bobby, huh, huh?' Jackson tried.

Roberta shot him a quelling look, pulling her guitar sharply into her lap so that the headstock almost jabbed him on the way round.

‘Come on, Bobby, I know you can be good fun,’ Jackson said, dodging.

‘Bite me,’ Roberta replied. ‘Oh Clara? I got good news.'

'Hit us with it,' Clara said.

'An old mate of mine knows some guy who's organising a gig and dance at the local club. Sort of 'music through the ages' theme. They want people to do covers of famous bands right the way from like, jazz and that through to modern stuff. So I told him we'd do it. Thought it'd be good to get our hand in before the competition at school.'

'Cool. So who'll we be doing?'

'Um.' Rob wriggled a bit. 'ABBA.'

‘Aw hell no, I'm leaving!' Jackson sprang to his feet, closely followed by Jet.

'ABBA?' Josh groaned.

'Well, they needed someone to do the old stuff, everyone was offering to cover for Rhianna.'

'Hey you guys!' Clara shouted. 'ABBA are awesome.'

'You like ABBA?' Snake asked in horror, scrambling up as well.

'They’re solid gold! How many songs are we going to play?'

'Three, plus an encore if the crowd like us.'

'We'll meet you by the car,' Fox muttered. All four men backed away to a safe distance, eyeing Clara warily.

'Cool, let's talk tactics,' she said, unperturbed. The others wriggled into a circle around her. K Unit were giving Alex ‘hard luck' faces.

'I think we should do _Dancing Queen_ ,’ Clara said. ‘Obvious, it's an absolute classic… _Voulez-Vous_ …’

‘Knew you’d want that one; it’s got saxophone in it,’ Roberta said. ‘How about _Does your Mother Know?_ It’s got male lead vocals; it’ll give the boys something to do.’

'I like _Waterloo_ for an encore,’ Jane said. ‘Can I sing it?’

‘Don’t see why not,’ Clara said. ‘I’ll be playing saxophone during that one anyway so I’m not fighting you for it.’

‘Oh, so we’re playing musical chairs with the vocals, are we?’ Roberta said.

‘Yup; it’s only fair,’ Clara said.

‘What a faff.’

‘Oh, don’t fuss; we’ll rehearse so we can change roles quickly.’

‘I think Alex should sing _Does Your Mother Know_ ,’ Taylor said. He was sprawled idly on his side in the grass, and he shot Alex a sidelong look.

‘Taylor, I thought we were bruvs!’ Alex exclaimed, surprised.

‘You’ve got to rip the bandaid off when it comes to singing, Al. Besides, the rhythm guitar in that one is tough and I don’t know if I can handle it and sing at the same time.’

‘Besides,’ Jane said, ‘six people is frankly quite a lot for a band. It’s wonderful that we’re flexible and have some extra instruments like violin and saxophone, but it does mean that we have to make sure everyone looks busy. If Taylor sings and plays at once, Alex, you’ll just have nothing to do.’

‘Right, I’ll think about it,’ Alex said. _And find a way to wriggle out of it_ , he added in his head.

‘So Rob,’ Clara said, ‘can we make you guitar-wrangler in chief? Work out how lead, rhythm and bass should go and help out Taylor and Alex?’

‘Sure thing,’ Rob said.

‘And Jane, Josh and I can work out our parts for ourselves, and we’ll all come together to work on vocals. How long have we got till the gig?'

'A week,’ Roberta said.

'Huh,’ Clara said. ‘Well, fine. You can learn three riffs and one set of vocals in a week, can't you Alex?'

'Fine.' Alex ground his teeth. 'Yes.'

'Good man,’ Clara said. ‘So we're sorted.'

They began to clamber to their feet, when Jane suddenly exclaimed:

'Hey Alex! What happened to your chest?'

Alex looked down. His shirt was still hanging open and in the pale sunlight his bullet wound was clearly visible. Not to mention innumerable smaller scars.

'I had a bit of an accident,' he said, pulling the sides of his shirt hastily together before the others could look.

'A bit of an accident?' Jane echoed. She was still craning her neck to see as Alex quickly did up his buttons. He was berating himself internally. He should have said _bike accident_ and spread his arms to let them have a good look, but while they’d been sitting talking he hadn’t remembered MI6. He didn’t want to remember. Now he was on the defensive.

'Hey dude,' Josh broke in. 'Don't worry about it. Scars are nothing we can't handle.' All through the game he had kept his jumper on, but now he pulled it off and held up his arm for Alex's inspection. Alex gasped. Josh’s forearm was covered in thin, regular scars, closely packed parallel lines that ran from his elbow onto the back of his hand. Alex shook his head slowly.

'Oh my God,' Jane whispered. 'I thought that was all just rumours.' She turned to Clara. 'Did you know?'

'Of course. I helped mop them up.'

'Haven't self-harmed in five months,' Josh said. 'But, you know…it still happened.'

'Well,’ Alex said, ‘I didn't stab myself if that's what you mean.'

'No, I know. Just saying, you know, some people see your scars and just freak out. But it's cool with me. None of my business how you got them.' He flashed a rare smile.

Everyone was quiet, letting the atmosphere hang. A shared moment. Alex wished he could feel a part of it. He wanted to share his own secret, to thank Josh for what must have been a hell of a confession, but he couldn't. He just had to keep lying to them all.

'Ah well. Moving on out then,' Clara said at last. The mood broke as they all began to scramble to their feet.

'ABBA seems like an ideal band for us to cover, actually,’ Jane said to Clara as they left the park. ‘Violin _and_ saxophone.’

'Yes, plenty of material for both of us. Hey, speaking of violin, I've been working on a piece for my music coursework, a classical piece for piano and two violins. I know you're only, you know, one violin, but we could go through it some time?'

'Yes.' Jane smiled. 'That would be good.'

Hiding in the undergrowth, Yassen smiled too. What had started out as a fool's errand had borne fruit. The local dance club. A week away.

They had a location.


	11. Dress Rehearsal

Alex was feeling slightly but definitely sick. He nervously paced the hall outside the dance club’s dressing room, trying to recall another time when he’d felt this way. Sabotaging Scorpia's hot air balloon? No, there'd been no time. The night he'd escaped from the organ transplant centre? He definitely hadn’t been more nervous then. He'd had a plan, he was active, carrying it through. Now he had no plan. He was totally out of his depth. His first parachute jump? Yes, that was a better comparison. You jumped out, pulled the ripcord, and either it worked or it didn't. Of course Clara or Roberta would say that it was different, your fate was entirely in your own hands and besides, you weren't facing death. Well, they could sod off. Alex was beginning to think that he just did death better.

He stopped at the door of the dressing room and entered. It was shabby, with graffiti on the walls and twenty years’ worth of chewing gum in the carpet. Roberta was playing the piano. Even after a week, the sight looked as wrong as ever. Roberta seemed to have been born behind a guitar, and watching her playing anything else was like looking at an elephant with a beak instead of a trunk. Or something.  _Crikey_ , Alex thought dazedly,  _I really am going crazy here._

Rob complained loudly whenever she had to play the piano. 'It freaks me out,' she'd confessed to Alex during one of their lessons. 'I'm so used to the guitar, I can just play it without thinking. Playing piano's so much harder, it's like reverting ten years.' Alex sympathised. He knew what it was like to be advanced at something and then find yourself totally outstripped and helpless.

A door opened somewhere in the club, allowing the strains of _Surfin' USA_ by The Beach Boys to penetrate to their room.

'Five minutes, guys,' Clara whispered. Alex's stomach flipped with panic. He could not believe he was being asked to go and play an instrument he'd been learning for all of  _one month_  in front of a huge audience. This was not in the job description. The whole point of learning bass was so he could feign an interest in music if necessary, not _become_  a musician. _Oh God, oh God_ …

Josh slipped out of the room to go take a peek in the club.

'Good turnout,' he observed. 'It's rammed in there.'

Was he not fazed? Was he seriously not fazed? Everyone else looked pretty sick to Alex, except for Rob, who was hiding her nerves behind her habitual scowl. Josh was like the beats he played, steady, unobtrusive, holding the rest together. Alex drifted towards his reassuring presence, guided by mere instinct now. A roar of applause sounded from outside.

At a typical bullfight six bulls are killed…

That was what it was most like, Alex decided. The bullfight. The fear of having to go out and perform moves you didn't know, preceded by the agonising wait, the sympathy for the other players… _at a typical disco six bands are killed…_

 _H_ e couldn't bottle it up any longer.

'Clara,' he began weakly.

'I can't do this.'

The words were spoken in a low, dead voice, dropped flatly into the stillness. The band wheeled as one, staring at the speaker.

'Jane?' Clara said at last.

'I'm a classical musician.' Jane addressed the wall with her head in her hands. 'That's what everyone expects me to be. Not a pop star. I wanted to be good at this and now there's friends of mine out there waiting to laugh and whoop and make it all into a big  _joke_.' Her voice broke on the last word.

Alex stared, dumbfounded. His own fears seemed somehow feeble by comparison. Nobody at their school had any preconceptions about him; nobody was trying to force him back into the box they thought he should fit in. And besides, he was only here for the job. It was not his reputation being made or broken here.

'Jane,' Clara said again. She knelt down and put her arm awkwardly round Jane's shoulder. 'Listen, it'll be fine, you were brilliant in rehearsal…'

'Here,' Roberta interrupted, thrusting a black tube into Jane's hand.

'Huh? What – '

'This, Jane, is known as a mascara wand. It emphasises your lashes and makes your eyes more expressive. It's also great for morale. Now put it on and get your butt out there.'

'Uh, Clara,' Alex said feebly as Jane dried her eyes and began to apply the mascara, 'I'm not feeling too good about this…'

'If you chicken out now, frog, you'll have me to contend with, and I am scarier than _anything_  they’ve got out there,' Clara said.

'Listen, Alex,' Rob told him, heading for the door, 'you're a fit guy. Just look soulful, dance around, whatever, they'll go with it.'

When a girl like Roberta tells you that you don't argue.

*     *     *

The car purred silently through the dark streets. Yassen was at the wheel, Ash in the passenger seat. To anyone else the silence would have been deafening, but both men were used to ignoring awkward situations. Yassen focussed on the road, ignoring everything but the task in hand. Ash just zoned out.

The call had come through to Ash while Yassen was out Alex-spotting. Forget accidents, a random murder will do. Just don't let it look like a professional job. Yassen had arrived back, his intelligence about the gig providing the perfect cover for his moment of weakness in going to spy on Alex. They had agreed. Emotions run high at nightclubs. It shouldn't be too hard to lure the target outside, into some dark corner, and stab her to death. Ash looked sidelong at Yassen's chiselled profile, and his unearthly blue eyes. Shouldn't be too hard at all.

*     *     *

'This’ll be a good dry run,' Clara said, her voice hoarse. 'Dress rehearsal, like. To prepare us for the mob at school.'

'Just remember,' Jane added with bitter irony, 'it's only going to get worse.'

'Exactly,' Clara replied. They stood behind the curtain, peering through at the crowd.

'Alex.' Roberta was speaking now. 'Remember what I said. Don't try to think about the notes; no-one can think their fingers into place that fast anyway. If you were shooting a goal, you wouldn't think every part of your body into the right place, you would just do it. Trust your fingers. They know the positions.'

'Right.'

'Just relax.'

'Right.'

' _And now, covering ABBA…_ ' an announcer called.

'Crap, crap, our name is so crap!' Clara moaned.

'The Non-Conformists!'

Cheers exploded across the room, the voices of a crowd with fresh material to either worship or massacre.  _At least when you're on a mission you know who the enemy are,_ _A_ lex thought. There was no dramatic entrance. They just moved smoothly and without fuss to their positions on stage. Alex slung his bass across his chest, and immediately felt slightly more protected. Clara settled herself behind the keyboard. The crowd was muttering, but as Roberta stepped up to the mike silence fell. Here, at least, was someone who looked the part.

Up on the stage all eyes turned to Clara. Her fingers were on the piano keys, poised to kick them all into _Dancing Queen_. The first notes the Non-Conformists would ever play. It was a tricky song to begin. First Clara had to play a _glissando_ , a stream of notes without rhythm, and then all of them had to begin playing at once, making it very difficult to find the beat. Josh glowered from behind the drums. If anyone could hold them together, it would be him. He held his drumsticks poised but relaxed, ready.

And then the piano shattered the moment like crystal, Alex flailed at the strings and somehow found the right chord and they were off. Layers of parts, perfectly in rhythm, with the violin leading over the top. Clara had said that this intro had to hit the audience bang in the eye and then peel backwards to reveal the singer like a jewel in the middle. Alex hadn’t understood what she was being so poetic about, but suddenly he could hear it happening. They’d made it through the first bars of the song; now they were playing more quietly, providing a backdrop for Roberta to sing. He strummed more gently, finding a softer rhythm, and Rob took a breath and began.

' _Friday night and the lights are low…_ '

From her first note you could tell it was going to be perfect. The old well-known song rolled across the club, deep and resonant, capturing the dancers.

' _Looking out for a place to go. Where they play the right music, getting in the swing, you come to look for a king._ _Anybody could be that guy…'_

Jane layered a jagged counter-melody over the top.

'… _night is young and the music's hiiiiiiggggghhh._ ' Rob grinned as she plunged down on the last word to notes that were surely the preserve of basses.

' _With a bit of rock music…'_

'Yeah!' People at the front were beginning to move in time to the beat.

Taylor and Alex leaned forwards, sharing one microphone, and all five of them launched into the chorus while behind them Josh held the beat, steady and unshakeable. They held the last note,  _forte_ to the end, then toned it down for Roberta's next entry.

' _You're a teaser, you turn 'em on_ ,' she sang huskily, letting her hair fall forward and smouldering at the audience. She found K Unit at the back and spared them a wink (Alex had been trying not to think about what they would say later, but it might not be so bad if Rob kept this up). He plucked out the same rhythm on his bass, chord, chord, up a third, down a third. After Josh, he was the next line of defence for rhythm. It was lucky the others were so good. Jane's arm pumped powerfully across the strings, leading them through the outro, and as the music faded a slow roar swelled from the crowd. Alex dropped his hands off the guitar and stood dazed. They'd made it through the first song, and now his legs were turning to water. The applause battered him.

'Well done, bruv,' Taylor muttered, clapping him on the shoulder. Alex managed to draw breath.

'Ya ready, guys?' Clara was hefting on her saxophone.

_Oh God…Voulez-Vous…_

Clara was bouncing on the spot, trying to work off her tension. The proverbial boffin, about to get up and sing ABBA's raunchiest number. The bass line was so prominent in this one.  _I will not screw up,_  Alex vowed,  _I WILL NOT SCREW UP._

Clara flicked a finger.

Taylor plunged into the introduction, a series of rapid, sliding chords. Alex played the bass line, a single thumping note. Not noticeable while it was playing but missed if it dropped out. They repeated their pattern, once twice, a hint of synth creeping in from Jane…

Then the saxophone started.

*     *     *

They could hear some kind of slinky music playing as they entered the reception of the club, a steady bass drum pounding through the walls with a suggestion of melody on top. Yassen slid money to the bouncer without bothering to check the entry fees. He was sure what he had handed over provided an ample tip. And as soon as they entered the disco he knew he had timed it exactly right.

The six teenagers were playing on the stage, Clara at the microphone with her saxophone across her chest, the other girls singing the harmonies either side of her, Taylor on guitar and Alex on bass. The grim, hulking boy with the scarred arms pounded stolidly at the drum kit. Alex's face was a mask of focus. He strummed the guitar with a hard, regular motion of his hand, and Yassen could see the eyes of half the girls in the club fixed on him. As he watched, the band – for truly that was what they were – launched into a chorus, all of them harmonising while Clara played thick, vibrato-layered notes on the saxophone, breaking off just in time to sing a backing vocal with Jane. She had a set of lungs on her, certainly. They were split now, Alex, Taylor and Roberta singing the lyrics, Jane and Clara chiming in with a rhythmic _ah-ha_! The music had a jumpy, infectious beat. More than half the audience were clapping along.

'The SAS unit are here,' Ash grunted.

'What?'

Ash, not turning his head, subtly indicated the direction in which Yassen should look. Yassen spotted them almost immediately, grouped in a corner, eyes flickering everywhere.

'Shall I…' Ash began. His hand crept towards the holster at his hip. Yassen seized his arm in a vice-like grip.

'I want to listen to the rest of the set.'

'What? Since when are you into seventies rock?'

'I wish to listen to their performance.'

'Okay, okay! Let go of me, you – '

Yassen relinquished his grip as abruptly as he had taken it, leaving Ash staggering. He turned his eyes back to the stage.

*     *     *

Alex had made it so far. He was even beginning to feel a little confident. They had completed the second chorus and now Taylor was playing the same set of chords as at the beginning. He milked it for all he was worth, rocking around with the guitar. Alex's stomach lurched again. It was his solo part, any second now…

' _Voulez-vous, ah ha!_ '

All the other parts stripped away, leaving just him and the singers. He strummed the rhythm, as regular as he could make it. The saxophone ripped in again.

' _Voulez-vous, ah ha! Ah ha! Ah ha!_ '

He struck at the strings, and the notes came thumping out through the speakers, so low they were practically another drum, just like something off the radio…he couldn't believe that sound was coming out of his fingers…

And suddenly there it was, the high that Clara had promised. The low infectious rhythm, the handclap from the crowd, the heat of the lights. Feeling your part braid in with the others, just exactly right.

' _Voulez-vous…_ '

Clara's voice rose up, harmonising on some lofty note high above the others. He played his riff out again, swivelling his hips in time to the beat, and Taylor laced a little ornament over the top of it. They slid inevitably back into the chorus, fading out to the cheering of the crowd. Taylor gave a spontaneous whoop as the applause kicked in, and Clara laughed, gasping for breath. Alex shook his head, amazed by what had just taken place inside him.

*     *     *

Yassen gave the slightest of nods, satisfied. Alex had played well, and so had his friends. It pleased him that they had done themselves justice.

No need to end on a bad note.

*     *     *

 _Note to self,_ Clara thought _,_ _must not jump up and down on stage…_ Her saxophone was a dead weight around neck, her diaphragm was aching and she was totally on top of the world. She turned round to find herself face to face with Alex. He was holding himself fairly still and his expression was calm, but there was a current of energy buzzing around him that hinted that he was as wildly happy as her. Any suspicions were confirmed when he opened his mouth.

'Does Your Mother Know!' he gabbled eagerly, diving for the mike. Clara had no idea what had been going on in his head while he was singing, but it seemed to have had good results. She laughed out loud as she handed him the microphone.

'Hey.' Rob nudged Clara as she adjusted her guitar on its strap. 'Check out that blond fish at the back.'

Clara gave him a cursory glance.

'Too old,’ she said. ‘Come on, you ready?' She was determined not to lose Roberta on a flirting expedition that night, or put up with a month of boy-angst and cancelled rehearsals later if she could help it. Best to head her off now.

She and Jane moved into position behind Alex, ready to sing the backing vocals. Taylor began to play the opening chords…this really was the number for rhythm guitar…Rob burst in with lead, and they were away again.

*     *     *

The soldiers had definitely spotted them now, but they weren't moving yet. Yassen wondered how far they would go to avoid a fight in public. Alex, on the stage, was still oblivious, getting ready to sing a lead. He looked happier than Yassen had ever seen him, a little incredulous at his position, but enjoying it nonetheless. Yassen blanked out the situation for a second, concentrating on Alex as he began to sing. His voice was husky and undeveloped, but true to the note. He seemed a different boy from the haunted teen on Air Force One. Was it only because of MI6 that he had taken up bass? Yassen shook his head. So many things he would never know.

*     *     *

Taylor was strumming hard and fast, a good solid support. 

 _Don't think about it,_  Alex told himself,  _just do it._

' _You're so hot,_ _’_ he sang, _‘teasing me._ _So you're blue, but I can't take a chance on a chick like you…_ '

It was a brilliant song. He found himself half-laughing as he sang. The words sounded so odd in context, so far from anything he would ever really say. Just such a feel-good song, bursts of guitar coming in from Rob and Clara and Jane belting out the harmonies behind him.

' _Take it easy,_ ' he crooned into the microphone. ‘ _Better cool it down._ _Take it nice and slow._ _Does your mother know?'_

He could hear the girls harmonising behind him. Clara stepped forward, leaning on his shoulder, and he elbowed her off. She skipped back, laughing, and began to snap her fingers in time to the beat. Taylor was headbanging over his guitar.

As he began the second verse the audience clapped in time, cheering him on. He was totally hamming up the song and they were loving every second of it. Clara and Jane flanked him again, all shyness cast aside, laughing along. They hit the last chorus, tearing away, just singing it for all they were worth:

' _Well I can dance with you honey…'_  (they did crap dancing)

'… _if you think it's funny._  
_‘Does your mother know that you're out?_  
_‘And I can chat with you baby'_  (they leaned against each other and did crap chatting)  
‘ _Flirt a little, maybe,_  
' _Does you're mother know that you're out?'_

They sang the chorus over again, Clara shouting the lyrics on the offbeat. They finished the song off Mama Mia style, messing about with the rhythm:

' _Does your mother know, does your mother know, does your mother know that you're out?'_

'Yes!' Alex yelled.

'What's got into you tonight?' Clara screamed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. From the side of the room Alex saw the DJ waving to them:  _encore._

' _Waterloo_ ,' Clara said. Rob looked at her.

'You want me to play that bloody keyboard again, don't you?'

They all dissolved into laughter and took their positions. Alex had sung through the harmonies for this one, but they'd promised him he wouldn't have to do it; Taylor could take care of them. Now he caught his friend's eye.

'Go right ahead,' Taylor grinned, catching his meaning before he could speak. Alex was struck by a moment of pure admiration. Taylor was the singer here, yet he was willing to take a supporting role all night, just to let Alex get into it.

'Thanks, bruv,' he said. Jane stood at the forefront of the band, preparing to sing. She gave Alex a tight smile.

'It'll be fine, hon,' he told her soothingly, and she managed a laugh.

The keyboard came in. For all her complaints, Roberta was a competent player. As Alex strummed, he watched Jane closely. She was staring at the opposite wall with eyes like fire. Then she drew in her breath like a trained singer and launched into the song at full volume:

' _My my!_ _At Waterloo Napoleon did surrender…’_

' _Waterloo!'_ Alex came in underneath her, singing until he thought his lungs would burst.

'I _was defeated, you won the war_!' A brilliant spotlight swivelled onto Clara as she ripped in with the saxophone, trembling her lip to make it vibrate and dancing in time to the music.

' _Waterloo, promise you'll love me for ever more!'_  There was a prominent bass bit here. He leaned right back, rocked his hips and strummed with his whole arm. Jane gave him a look of incredulous delight, then laughed and threw herself with fresh enthusiasm into the piece.

' _Waterloo, couldn't escape if I wanted to!'_  The saxophone howled again.

' _Waterloo, knowing my fate is to be with you!_

Alex was glad. He was glad he'd encountered MI6, glad he'd been sent on this mission so that he could meet these people, glad he'd sat through the long, torturous hours of rehearsal so that he could be a part of this now.

' _My my!'_  He stood back to back with Jane…

 _'I tried to hold you back but you were stronger!_ '

…and they rocked back and forth in time to the words. People in the audience were jumping up and down, whooping and applauding. Alex joined them, clapping along in time with his hands stretched out towards Jane as she sang again:

 _'So how could I ever refuse? I feel like I win when I lose!'_ Just in time he scrambled for his guitar and got all the chords in place, sparking a roar of encouragement from the dancers. They finished up in a haze of sweat and sore throats and sore fingers, the last blast of the saxophone still ringing in their ears. The applause was tumultuous.

They had one last task to perform. Clara was insistent on this.

The stood in a line on the front of the stage and bowed. The clapping increased. Three times up and down, and then they finally reeled off, senses numbed by the light and noise.

It was the same massive adrenaline rush you got after, say, jumping off a very tall building with a parachute, only purely positive. As soon as they got offstage Jane seized Alex around the neck, leaping manically up and down at the same time. Her head bashed his chin and he hardly felt it.

'Oh my God I'm so proud of you all!' Clara shrieked, actually crying. Taylor had an arm easily around her waist, grinning all over his face. Even Josh was smiling.

‘Shall we go join the party?’ Roberta called.

'So much energy!' Alex muttered frantically. 'Come on, guys, let's run!'

*     *     *

'Where's Cub?' Fox muttered. 'We should go and fetch…'

 _'I got the power!_ '

The cry was coming from the top of the stairs leading to the dressing room. The unit turned in time to see Alex do a stage-leap don the full flight, legs tucked up and arms flung wide. He landed in a crouch, lost his balance and fell, but shoulder-rolled and regained his feet instantly.

'Oh get you, James Bond!' Taylor yelled. Wolf gripped Eagle's arm.

'You don't think he told…'

'Relax, Wolf-man. It’s called a Bond roll.'

'Relax? You're telling me to relax? Cub, get over here!'

Alex heard Wolf's call and detached himself from the others with promises to be 'just a few minutes.' He was smiling broadly as he hurried over, but then he noticed their funereal expressions.

'Gregorovich,' Wolf muttered as soon as he was within earshot.

Alex couldn't believe it. Why couldn't he just be happy, just for tonight?

'Oh, shit,' he muttered. 'Oh, hell's bells…'

'Right, here's what we gotta do,' Wolf muttered. 'We gotta stick close, watch their every move. It’s going to be hard to arrest them in here; if they feel threatened they might try and shoot it out, and we can’t risk that with so many civilians. If we can get them surrounded they might surrender.’

‘Can we just shoot them? Take them out?’ Alex asked. Wolf shook his head.

‘We can’t just gun someone down in front of witnesses. If they make a move against Foster, don’t let them finish making it. Shoot. But we can't be seen to launch an unprovoked attack.’

*     *     *

Clara watched Alex in conversation with his housemates. It was good they'd all turned out for him, though by the looks of things they were lecturing him about how singing was uncool or ‘gay’ or something along those lines. Something serious, anyway. She hoped it wouldn't spoil their evening for long.

Josh and Taylor were hovering a little distance away, waiting for Alex. Jane was next to Clara. Rob was fetching drinks. Everyone at the bar was eager to congratulate her, crowding round. Roberta smiled and nodded and bantered, eyes raking assessingly over each boy who spoke to her.

‘You were well good by the way,’ Clara said to Jane.

'You think so? I was so nervous.'

'Didn't show.’

‘Thank you. I hope to God Roberta isn’t going to be all night. I'm parched.'

‘Ah, let her have her fun,’ Clara murmured.

‘Really?’ Jane said. ‘I thought you hated that.’

‘Well, what’s the point of being a successful singer in a band if you’re not going to use it?’ Clara said. ‘As long as it’s not mid-performance.’ She paused. ‘…I wish I could talk to boys the way she can.’

‘D’you think it makes her happy?’ Jane asked searchingly. Clara hesitated.

‘Not really,’ she said. ‘Honestly I think almost everyone she’s dated has been a total prick. But it’d be nice to have the option, right?’

‘Oh yes,’ Jane said sleekly. ‘Power over others is always desirable.’

‘Exactly so. I hope Alex's relos aren't getting too heavy with…oh look, here she comes.'

*     *     *

'That was a good set.'

Roberta turned around, three glasses awkwardly clamped in her arms. It was the fish she had pointed out to Clara, the blond one at the back. The DJ had put on some quiet jazz music, allowing the clubbers to chat and mingle, and she could hear his voice clearly. He had some kind of faint accent that she couldn't quite place.

'Let me help you with those,' he said, removing the most precariously balanced of the drinks.

'Thanks. If you could just hold on to those while I get myself sorted…'

'You play very well,' he said as she juggled. 'I hope you will not think I am intruding if I join you?' His gaze flickered to Clara.

'I'm nineteen,' she told him coolly, ‘and my friend is even younger. However, it's a free country…' she reclaimed her drink and strolled back towards the girls.

*     *     *

‘I know that look,’ Clara said as Roberta came towards them.

'She's caught one,' Jane muttered.

'No,' Clara said. ‘At least, she hasn't landed it yet. She's playing the line.'

'This metaphor gets more intricate by the second.'

'He has,' Rob exclaimed, 'the bluest eyes I have ever seen.'

'Who, your superannuated non-fish at the back?' Clara asked.

‘He’s got to be late twenties at least,’ Jane agreed.

'Whatever.’ Roberta rolled her eyes. ‘Seriously, you can swim in them.'

'I think I'd better take a look at these eyes,' Clara decided.

*     *     *

The plan laid, Alex turned away from K Unit. What he saw nearly made him faint. Clara was striding purposefully in Yassen's direction.

'Oh fuck,' Eagle whispered, following his gaze. 'Oh fuck, fuck, fuck…'

*     *     *

Yassen looked up as the target approached him. She leaned towards the bar, as though inspecting the drinks selection, and regarded him sidelong, ducking and bobbing her head oddly. He caught Ash's eye, and the other man nodded.  _Go on_. He was just about to speak when Clara strode off again.

*     *     *

'Hey, his eyes really are blue,' Clara said, rejoining the other girls.

'Told you so,' Rob said smugly. 'Gorgeous, isn't he?'

'I'll grant you that.'

'Right, I'm going to look at him,' Jane declared. She marched across the club and touched the man on the shoulder to gain his attention.

'Excuse me,' she said, 'my friends are saying you've got blue eyes. Can I look?'

*     *     *

K Unit spread out across the club and began to close in. The time for discretion was past; it was now or never.

*     *     *

'Well they're not  _that_  blue,' Jane called across to Clara and Roberta. The blond man’s eyes moved from them to Jane and back again. Half the club had heard Jane and were watching with interest. Roberta slammed her face exhasperatedly into the palm of her hand.

Clara decided to brazen it out.

'Well, what  _do_  you call blue then?' she called back.

'I don't know; sky blue?'

'Sky blue eyes? That would just be plain scary.'

*     *     *

 _Just plain scary_ _, Alex thought, with dreamlike incredulity._

_*     *     *_

The unit were closing in. Yassen turned away from Jane, catching Ash's eye again. There was no chance of luring the target to a secluded spot any more. It had to be done now, or not at all. He put his hand to his hip holster, felt the cold familiar weight of the gun. That was better. These undercover missions were foolish; he wasn't a spy. Now he could finish this. The sight of a gun would scatter the witnesses and he and Ash would be able to run. He would be confirmed fit for operations. Life would go on.

*     *     *

Jane glanced down. The world seemed to slow. In the man's hand she saw the glint of a gun. The felt no panic. She was sure she was dreaming, so there was no need. This was an emergency, so she should scream for help.

*     *     *

Yassen jumped as the violinist lunged for his gun, a shriek rising in her throat. He flicked out a hand and sent her sprawling, at the same time raising the gun.

*     *     *

Alex broke into a sprint.

*     *     *

Clara froze. She saw blue eyes fixed on her face, and then something slammed into her, not from in front but from behind. Alex had reached her. He was throwing her to the ground. She saw Taylor spinning round, mouth agape, and heard Josh roar her name as she fell, Alex on top of her. There were three sharp cracks from the bar, and then more from somewhere behind her.

*     *     *

And Ash fired. God help him, he raised his gun and fired straight into the face of that gifted young girl. Except she wasn't there anymore. Alex had come rushing in at the last moment and knocked her to the ground.

_Foiled again._

And he blessed the Riders. He blessed them even as Alex rolled to his knees, pulling out his own gun, and began to shoot wildly in his direction; even as the soldiers ran towards him; even as he knew the mission was destroyed. He and Yassen turned and fled, splitting up as soon as they were through the double doors. They were going to be running for a very long time.

*     *     *

Alex gripped the gun that MI6 had finally given him, shooting wildly between the two men who had shaped his life. He wasn't aiming to kill, or aiming at all. He just had to get them the hell away from Clara. K Unit were running, people were screaming, everything was chaos…

*     *     *

 _Squashed,_ Clara thought. _I have never been so squashed._ Alex had crushed her into the floor and her whole left side ached. Then she registered that the shooting had stopped.

Alex pulled her to her feet.

'Are you alright?' he asked. K Unit were pushing towards them through the crowd.

'I'm fine,' she said. Her eyes flicked between him and K Unit. ‘So those guys are soldiers?’

Alex looked at K Unit too, and sighed.

‘Yeah,’ he said. With their drawn weapons, watchful eyes and the way they moved in tandem, they suddenly couldn’t be anything else.

‘So where do you fit?’ Clara asked him. ‘You’re too young to be a soldier, but there’s no way you’re just Stewart’s kid brother. Not with the way you reacted.’

Now that was a deductive leap he hadn’t expected her to make. He realised that she must still be too astounded to panic, and in her shocked state she was thinking inconveniently clearly. He opened his mouth to deny it, to ask her what on earth she was talking about.

Only a few seconds had passed. Some people still hadn't noticed there was anything wrong. Gun crime in English suburbs just wasn’t that common. The sound of the pistols hadn’t been immediately recognised, and it looked like by some miracle nobody had been hit. But panic was starting to spread out from him and Clara in waves. Somebody screamed, somebody started to sob. He looked round again. Somehow the rest of their friends had fought their way through to them: Taylor, Josh, Rob and Jane. Jackson and Jet – he hadn't even known they were coming – were converging with K Unit – another bunch of worried family members, or so they thought. They all continued to struggle towards the band.

'Clara, can you walk?' Alex asked.

'Yes, I – '

'Good.' He spun around to face the exit. 'Follow me.'

They obeyed him like sheep. Too much had happened. He began to stride towards the door, and they all straggled after him.

'Alex,' Clara called, trying to keep up with him as he hurried forwards. 'Alex, where are we going?'

'To the car. Come on, hurry!' He waved them all past him and brought up the rear into the cold night air.

'Alex?' Snake called. Alex shoved into Clara and Jane from behind, pushing them faster. K Unit quickened their pace. Alex and his friends broke into a run.

'CUB!' Wolf roared.


	12. Blown Cover

All night Alex had been suspecting he was crazy. Now he knew he was. He vaulted over the side of the car, buckling himself in, and Clara leapt into the driver's seat and turned the ignition. Somehow all six of them piled into the five-seater.

'Now drive!' Alex yelled. 'Fast as you can!'

Any second now K Unit were going to come bursting out of the club…

'Where to?' Clara called, pulling out on to the road. Alex thanked the heavens that she was a good driver.

'Josh's garage, and step on it.'

They drove at breakneck speed through the late-night streets, and it occurred to Alex that if Scorpia's top assassins hadn't finished Clara, this drive probably would. A few times she or one of the others would ask what the hell was going on, but he always rebuffed them. They were still in shock, easily silenced.

By the time they reached Josh's, however, Clara's argumentative nature was coming back.

'Alex, what is happening?' she demanded, slamming the car door. He ignored her, seizing her by the shoulder and propelling her towards the garage. He could see real fear sparking in her eyes now. She had, after all, just been nearly shot in a dark club. And he'd been shooting back with a gun. And had forced them without explanation away from the obvious authority figures.

He ushered them all into the garage and stepped in behind them, slamming the door and flicking on the lights. Crashing white beams poured down, making the pictures on the walls leap out like something in a dream. Alex gazed at the fresh ones, pictures of the band at rehearsal. Rob in pop-art style with her guitar, Taylor singing dreamily into a microphone. His eyes lingered on one of all of them in a park, doing whatever characterised them. He was poring over the science textbook, biting on his pen. Just longing to be an ordinary schoolboy. Even without being told, Josh had picked up on that.

'Alex,' Clara said angrily, 'what the hell is going – '

He planted himself in front of her and ripped off his shirt.

Her face was a picture. A kind of _'alright, I am too confused to even be freaked out now'_ expression.

'What the fuck…' Taylor whispered.

'This is a bullet wound,' Alex snapped, indicating the scar on his chest. 'I was shot by a sniper after I fucked up an operation by the same people who sent those men after you tonight. My father and my uncle were both spies. Yassen Gregorovich – that's the name of your blond fish, Rob – killed my uncle, and the other guy blew up my parents.' He wasn't trying to sugar-coat it. They wouldn't believe him anyway, and he was running out of time. 'After Yassen killed my uncle, I was blackmailed into working for the intelligence services. I've done seven missions. I killed Damian Cray the pop star, when he was trying to blow up the world. I prevented an artificial tsunami off the coast of Australia. Then me and the unit I trained with in the SAS were sent in to watch out for you. We did a pretty crappy job of it. I'm sorry.'

They were all staring at him, faces frozen in shock.

'Do you believe me or don't you?' he demanded.

'I won't when I'm sober,' Clara rasped.

'Clara…'Jane protested.

'Jane, you didn't see it like I did. One minute he wasn't there, the next he was; he must have been doing this for years.'

'I did see it, though,’ Jane said. ‘And I see what you mean. He's had some kind of training.'

'So all the time you were hanging with us, you were on a mission?' Taylor said slowly. He was sitting curled up by the drum kit, his head in his hand.

'So you believe me?' Alex questioned.

'Yes.'

'Yes.'

'Yes.'

'Ye-es?'

'I think you're off it.'

Alex looked across at Rob, grinning slightly.

'What, you think I'm a compulsive liar?'

'Well, no, and I can't think of any other explanation for what you did tonight, but, look, you can't expect me to believe a story like that, just…' She snapped her fingers.

'Know what you mean, Rob,' Clara said. 'Like I said, I won't believe him once the shock's worn off.'

'But look Alex, it's OK,' Rob said.

'What?'

'You think I hate you because you're a compulsive liar? You saved Clara's life, you would have saved mine if it was me. You're a hero.'

 _You're a hero_. Suddenly Alex felt bone-weary, but he also felt warm. He crumpled to the ground, and the others followed suit.

'Bloody cold in here,' Alex muttered.

'So put your shirt back on,' Clara suggested, ever reasonable. Alex chuckled, wriggling back into the garment.

'So now what?' Josh asked. Alex sighed.

'Now we wait for my unit to catch up with me.'

'And aren't they going to be happy bunnies,' Jane added.

'Yup. I just totally violated the Official Secrets Act. I'm probably going to get court-martialled and shot.'

'If you've done all you say, then I doubt it,' Jane said.

'Thanks.'

*    *    *

Ash sprinted into the hotel. He had to be miles ahead of Gregorovich; no sane person would have taken the direct route back. Yassen would be dodging about in the back streets, trying to throw off pursuit. Ash only cared about beating him back. He barged into his room and began to fling his things together. He had to get out. Scorpia would probably catch him and kill him in twenty-four hours, but he had to get out.

*     *     *

Alex heard the scrunch of tires on tarmac.

'Brace yourselves,' he murmured. Seconds later K Unit burst in, closely followed – Alex gaped – by Mrs Jones.

‘Wow, bad news sure travels fast,’ he said to her.

K Unit stared for a moment at the teenagers sprawled companionably on the floor. Alex saw the exact moment when they realised he’d told them everything. Then Wolf shot forward and grabbed Alex by the shirt front.

'You stupid, _stupid_ , insolent little _kid_!' he roared, shaking him bodily. Fox and Eagle ran forward and seized him by the arms, trying to drag him off.

'Wolf, take it easy on the kid. Wolf, steady on!'

They succeeded in twisting his arms behind him. The band had leapt to their feet as soon as Wolf reached for Alex, and now Roberta put herself in front of him.

'Shut up!’ she shouted at Wolf. ' You leave him alone! Just shut up!'

'Stay out of this!’ Wolf snarled back.

'I am utterly disgusted at the standards in this unit!' Clara burst out, leaping to Roberta’s side. 'Alex is the only bloody competent person in this whole organisation! If it wasn't for him I’d've been shot outright! And you have the nerve to – '

'Quiet, please,' said Mrs Jones. Everyone stopped. 'Miss Foster, I appreciate this is a stressful time for you, but please rest assured that we have everything under control. Alex, K Unit, come with me please.'

'Wait!' Taylor called as they began to leave. 'What happens to Alex?'

'Oh,' Wolf snarled spitefully, 'he gets paid the hundred thousand he was contracted to make friends with you all, and gets his pretty-boy arse back to London.'

'Wait…'Taylor began. Mrs Jones gave Fox a look, and he took Alex by the shoulder, muttered, ‘c’mon, Cub,’ and steered him out of the garage.

Alex was propelled to the Jeep and buckled into the back seat. They began to drive.

'Wait, what?' he yelled.

'I’m here because I understood that it was likely your assignment would be completed tonight,' Mrs Jones said. ‘Wolf, why are you not in pursuit of the assassins?’

‘Because we were in pursuit of bloody _Cub_!’ Wolf shouted, still beside himself. ‘Did you see their faces? He told them everything!’

‘Alex, is this true?’ Mrs Jones asked.

‘Where are we going?’ Alex demanded. ‘Are we heading after Yassen and Ash?’

‘I’m pulling you out, Alex,’ Mrs Jones said. ‘Your cover is blown. If you are to avoid an investigation, not to mention the attention of journalists and your other enemies – ’

'What? No! My friends are back there! Yassen’s still out there; what the hell are you – '

'This has become a security risk,’ Mrs Jones said. ‘You must not contact those children again.’

'You bastards!’ Alex yelled. ‘Take me back!’ K Unit avoided his eyes. Alex yelled out and thrashed in his seat, determined to cause as much trouble as possible. His heel caught Eagle hard in the teeth.

‘Restrain him!’ Mrs Jones snapped.

‘Come on, Cub,’ Fox said again, immobilizing Alex in a grip like steel. Eagle grabbed Alex’s leg in one hand, the other clamped over his bloody mouth. Snake was in the driver’s seat, staring unhappily through the windscreen. Wolf still looked ready to do murder.

'You have violated the Official Secrets Act,’ Mrs Jones said coldly to Alex. ‘You are lucky not to be in much worse trouble. Given the parameters of the assignment, it is unlikely  that Scorpia will make another attempt on Miss Foster’s life tonight. Now, please don’t make any more difficulties.

Alex understood. He was MI6’s dirty little secret, and they were spiriting him away before the facts could leak out. Clara and her friends were only a secondary concern. His feelings weren’t a concern at all.

He lay panting on the seat, rebellion still smouldering inside him. Fighting wouldn't do any good. He had to  _think._

_*     *     *_

'Well,’ Roberta said, ‘this kind of fucks up our plans, doesn’t it?

Taylor, sitting on the floor again, let his head fall back against the wall with a quiet, heart-felt curse. Clara put her head in her hands and began to sob.


	13. Vacancy

When Yassen panted into the hotel room at 12:30am and found it empty, he was hardly surprised. He gave it another quarter of an hour, then phoned Julia Rothman.

'Ash is gone,' he said without preamble. 'Do you want me to get out there and look for him?'

'We already have a team on the case,' the smooth voice replied. 'They are on his trail. I don't think he really expected to evade us for long.'

'And when they catch him?'

'He will be dealt with. I believe he has outlived his usefulness as an assassin.'

'Of course.'

'And now…' Yassen stiffened at the subtle change in her tone. 'I understand that you and he made an assassination attempt this evening which was not successful.'

'That is correct.'

'Mr Gregorovich, what went wrong?'

'It was…difficult to coordinate,' he said. She took the hint.

'You were not satisfied with Mr Howell as a partner, were you?'

'It was not ideal, no.'

'I would have thought you would be able to put old grievances aside, Yassen.'

'I have no grievances against him. He bore the grudge.'

'I'm sure it was trying for you. And you are quite sure it was his attitude? No old grudges – or attachments – of your own?'

Yassen was tired of innuendo. 'The target was not the Rider boy,' he said brusquely. 'There is no reason why I should feel reluctant to kill a girl he has befriended for purely operational reasons.'

'Of course not.' There was a pause. 'I suggest that we wait until things have calmed down a little before making any further attempts on the girl. If she is attacked twice in quick succession, people may suspect she was targeted deliberately, which is the last thing our client wants. Change hotels tonight and await further instructions.’

‘I’m sure the target will be questioning the SAS unit’s cover story after tonight,’ Yassen said. ‘Their response was too prompt to have been amateur. It is possible that MI6 will have to find new protection for her. That might give us an opening.’

‘Certainly you should take advantage of any shake up in personnel,’ Mrs Rothman agreed. ‘However, if the same agents remain in place, and an opportunity presents itself for you to eliminate them, you are to prioritise this over terminating the target. I trust you to use your judgement in this matter.’

 _Kill Alex Rider_ , that meant. They really had him backed into a corner. Yassen murmured an assent, flicked off the phone and stood, staring into space. After a few minutes he knelt and set his suitcase on the bed. He opened it and lifted out the false bottom to reveal the violin, nestled in its black velvet. He lifted it out, set the bow on the strings and began to play by ear the parts Jane had played earlier that night. On an acoustic violin they sounded more sorrowful, lacking the bright drum and piano accompaniments. He frowned, playing more slowly, assessing the tone. It had been a long time since he'd used the instrument. It was too cold, for a start, and out of tune. He couldn't tune it properly without a piano, but he got the strings to harmonise with each other, at least, then spent some time rosining the bow and checking the violin over.

He would never allow Julia Rothman or anyone else to kill Alex Rider. If and when the time came for him to act on that decision, he would face the consequences. Until then the rules that ordered his life would stay the same. He would complete the assignment and continue the life he'd chosen at nineteen. Briefly he recalled Alex, Clara and Jane, dancing on the stage as they sang Alex's rambunctious number. Alex would probably never forgive him. But he wasn't looking for redemption from this job.

_*     *     *_

Immersed in reading, with the comfortable silence of the school library around her, Clara could convince herself that everything was OK.

It was a pattern that had served her well for years, so why should it suddenly be wrong?

'…getting rid of all these potted plants, they're getting too scraggy, this palm has really got to go,' she overheard the librarian saying.

'Oh Miss, you can't kill the tree, that's mean!' Jane's voice drifted over from the non-fiction section, where she was shelving books to earn brownie points.

Clara reapplied herself to the newspaper. Her fingers were calloused from all the piano practice she’d been doing. Anything to avoid too much free time to think.

'Look Clara, I'm saving trees,' Jane announced, marching past with a huge pot in her hands.

'That's good.'

'Not just good, Clara, that's _outstanding_.'

Clara smiled faintly and looked back at the newspaper she was reading.

'Anything good in there?' Jane asked her.

'If by good you mean entertaining, yes. But factual? I don't know.'

'What's the latest story, then?' Jane leaned over her shoulder.

'That my boyfriend…that's Rob's blue-eyed fish…tried to do me in after a bust-up between us, but there's a new angle. This journalist is banging on about the horrific rise of knife crime and now gun-crime in our society. Two rival gangs engaging in open warfare at a youth disco. They're saying that the whole place should be shut down, that modern youth is a disgrace…wasn't like the guy was so _young_  anyway; just blame it all on the teenagers…wait…what?'

'They're blaming in on the inflaming nature of rap music?' Jane expostulated, right in Clara’s ear. 'Were they even  _there_? We were playing  _ABBA._ '

‘Idiot. And look, apparently I'm some kind of tart, leading on two fish at once.  _The promiscuity of today's modern teenagers…_ beautiful tautology there, nice to know our reporters can actually write…so it's all my fault if someone decides to shoot at me at a disco. Apparently.'

'Stupid, really,' Jane summarised, straightening up again.

'Sod it, I'm finding Rob,' Clara declared.

‘Hardly seen her this week…’ Jane said.

‘Now that she isn’t giving daily bass lessons,’ Clara said. ‘It’s true; you might as well say it. Well, I was friends with her before – kind of – and I’m bloody well staying friends with her now. I’m sick of the library. Where is she?’

'Hi Clara.'

Clara turned with a sigh. A group of girls – emphatically not her friends – had just entered the library, and one of them was calling out to her. She had a fairly good idea what they were going to ask as well.

'How's your, uh, band thing going?' the girl at the front of the group enquired.

'Our band thing is fine, thanks,' Clara said shortly.

'That's cool. Um, is Alex anywhere around?'

'Sorry, he had to go back up to London for personal reasons.'

'Oh.' The girl looked disappointed. 'Do you know when he'll be back?'

'No I don’t,' Clara snapped.

'And we don't have his number, either,' Jane called from behind the bookshelf.

'Oh, that's a shame.' The girl’s smile turned slightly sneering. Clara sighed again. She could feel any vague popularity Alex’s presence had projected around her ebbing away. 'He was a brilliant singer,’ the girl went on. ‘Have you found someone to fill for him?'

'Not far to look. We have Taylor.'

'Oh yeah, I heard he sang too. Aren’t you and he in _church choir_ or something?’ The three girls sniggered. ‘Anyway, won't you need another guitarist?'

'Actually, Alex was a bassist.'

Clara and Jane both looked to see Roberta approaching them.

 _She looks like_ _an angel in black_ _leather_ , Clara thought in relief.

Roberta smiled at the girls, who shrank together slightly. Josh was behind her, looking suitably menacing, with Taylor bringing up the rear.

'Josh can't play drums and bass at the same time,’ Roberta went on, ‘so we might need a new bassist. Or I could play bass, or teach Taylor here to play it, or Jane could play the drums instead.'

'Jane plays the drums?' one of the girls demanded.

'Damn well,' Rob told her coolly. 'C'mon, guys, let's sit down somewhere.’

The five of them settled themselves on the comfy blue chairs. It was an uncomfortable number of people, Clara thought.

'Fishing again, were they?' Rob asked.

'Yup,’ Clara said. ‘One feels almost sorry for them.'

Roberta’s face said eloquently that pity was too good for them. She got out her guitar and began to strum very softly.

‘Remember when I tried to get you kicked out of the library for doing that?’ Jane asked.

‘I deserved it,’ Roberta shrugged.

‘We were wondering if we were going to see you guys at all this week,’ Jane said. Clara grimaced at her; she hadn’t been planning on admitting her anxieties.

‘Why would you not?’ Roberta asked.

'You’re the ones who’ve been hiding from us in here,’ Taylor said. ‘We were jamming. You would not _believe_ the blatantly obvious way we were chucked out of the music block.' 

'Yeah I would,’ Clara said. ‘That woman is really the – '

'We need to talk,' Jane announced.

They all turned to look at her.

'About what?' Clara asked, playing for time.

'About you nearly getting shot and Alex disappearing off the face of the earth, what else?'

'I miss him,' Clara said slowly. ‘He was a cool guy. Both in the sense that I liked him, and in the sense of social status. Get the feeling his presence helped draw you guys into my orbit a bit more.’ She glanced around Taylor, Josh and Roberta.

‘If we’re talking about cool stuff, the way we’ve only been your friends sometimes and in secret wasn’t very cool, Clara,’ Roberta said.

‘I never made a secret of it,’ Josh said mildly.

‘Okay, well, I did,’ Roberta said. ‘But you guys are actually the coolest people I know.’

‘Damn,’ Clara said. ‘Thanks.’

‘I wouldn't have thought I'd have felt the lack of him this much,’ Jane said. ‘But, you know, I do. Not just as a friend, as a band member, which is odd because with all due respect he was only a beginner.'

'He was a member when we formed it,' said Rob. 'Therefore he feels like an integral part of the group dynamic. Also there was the way he dragged his feet. We all tried really hard to motivate him, it made us more motivated too. That’s a little A level psychology for you.’

‘Hey,’ Clara said, brightening, ‘you’ve actually been paying attention in lessons?’

'I'll believe Roberta’s theory,’ Jane said. ‘It would explain why we haven't rehearsed in a week.'

'I liked him,' said Taylor sadly. 'Not just as a motivator or whatever.' Rob nodded.

'Oh yeah, I liked him too. God, I miss teaching him. We'd almost got far enough that he could have carried on on his own, but I'm afraid as it is he'll just fizzle out.'

'And forget,' Josh said.

'If he ever cared at all,' Taylor said bitterly.

Clara stared at him silently for a moment, then went across and hugged him.

'He must have liked us,’ she said. ‘He  _must've._  No-one's that good an actor.'

'Let’s remember the most important logistical issue,’ Josh said, ignoring the emotional moment going on right under his nose. ‘Monster. Rob’s original song. We were going to have Alex on lead vocals so Taylor could do the falsetto shrieking that only he can do. We can't do it the way we planned without an extra person, and rehearsing it will mean accepting that.'

‘I want my perfect fantasy of how that song should sound,’ Clara agreed. ‘Not the way it will actually sound with just the five of us.

‘Plus rehearsing without him means admitting he’s not in the band any more,’ Josh said. ‘But you know, we gotta.’

'Josh is right,' Jane said. 'So maybe we can't do Monster without the absent frog. Or, more specifically, we can't do it in all its glory without said frog. So maybe we'll have to do it differently, or pull it from our set, but  _oh well._ Better people than us have fallen into the trap of getting obsessed over one tiny thing. So let's look at the bigger picture and be bold. We've got to have a rehearsal. Tonight.'

'That garage is bloody freezing,' Rob moaned.

'We'll go to my house then,' Clara offered. 'We can use the piano.'

'No drum kit,' Josh grunted.

'You'll be playing bass,' Clara told him shortly. It hurt to say it. They were filling in the holes. She remembered the last time she had seen Alex, through a haze of tiredness and adrenalin, framed by the psychedelic walls of Josh's garage. It didn't even look like a very plausible picture anymore. He’d only been at their school for a few weeks. A couple of years from now they’d look back and barely remember him. He’d just be a blip in their lives.

'Are you scared?' Josh asked her.

'Yes. I have nightmares. I have nightmares about them coming for me. I have nightmares where Alex gets dragged off kicking and screaming by those soldiers, and ones where he walks off laughing. That other man with the dark hair I glimpsed across the club, I have nightmares where you and Rob turn into him. He had those haunted eyes.'

'Clara,' Rob whispered, 'I'm really, really sorry about thinking that guy was fit. I feel so stupid every time I think about it…'

'It's cool, Rob. I thought he was pretty fit too,' Clara admitted. Rob brushed something from her eye and then said shakily:

'But you said he was too old, you said he was a superannuated non-fish.'

'I just didn't want you ending up in bed with him, that's all – '

'Clara!'

' – but a girl can dream.'

'Are us local fish not good enough for you?' Taylor pouted.

'You are very fine fish, but there's only two of you.'

'Stupid not-here Alex,' Taylor grouched as the bell rang. 'The three of us guys were quite a fighting force, I thought.'

'But two just looks stingy.'

Clara walked side by side with Taylor to their form room.

‘Don’t know why I used to be so fussed about being seen with you,’ he said. ‘I don’t think anybody really cares.’

‘It’s not dumb to be worried what people think of you,’ Clara said reassuringly.

‘Well, _I_ don’t give a fuck what they think, anyway. Or what Alex thought of us, if he didn’t really like us.’

‘I’ve been thinking, though,’ Clara said. ‘The disadvantage of forming a group where you don't care about society is that they stop caring about you.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I mean Alex was the new guy. He was the guy everyone fancied. He was the guy people related to.’

‘Pretty ironic that we all saw _him_ as the normal one, right?’

‘Yup. But what I’m afraid of is this. Without him, we can go on and play a chart-shattering set, and the audience’ll clap and cheer… _but no-one will really care._ _’_

_*     *     *_

Jack was worried. Once again, it was because of Alex's assignments, but this time it was different. He'd come back without a scratch on him, but silent and brooding and carrying a truly magnificent guitar. He'd spent some time strumming at it in his room, but more time simply lying on his bed holding it, his eyes far away. She didn't really understand what the mission had been about; some girl who needed protection or something. Did they think he was a bodyguard now as well as a spy?

Jack hacked violently at the onions on the workbench, taking out some of her anger. She diced them much more thoroughly than usual before shaking them violently into a large pan in which chicken was already frying. It was Saturday, just before lunch, and she was making chicken and noodles for the two of them.

She whisked the finished noodles off the hob, and right on cue Alex appeared, mooching into the kitchen with the guitar in one hand. He stood it against the wall, eyed the salad speculatively for a moment and then began to rummage in his rucksack.

'You hungry?' she asked, trying to break the silence.

'Uh huh.'

'Alex, why do you never play that thing properly?' She nodded towards the guitar. 'You're always just lying around holding the thing.'

‘I don’t really know how to practise,’ he said. ‘When I played it before I was always having lessons or trying to learn specific bits of music. I only know a few riffs that don't sound good on their own, but I want to keep it up…' His voice petered out. His hand, still stuck in the bag, was still. Slowly he withdrew it to reveal a thin, battered booklet.

'Alex? What's that?' Jack asked, hurrying round the table.

'I've still got Taylor's chord book.' Alex sounded dazed.

'Taylor? Who's Taylor?'

'He was a boy I met while I was on my assignment…dammit, he'll be wanting it back…' Jack saw to her alarm that Alex was near tears. Even when he was small, he'd hardly ever cried. Whatever was wrong, it must be bad.

'Alex,' she said firmly, 'come and sit down.' She pushed him into a chair at the table and sat down facing him. 'Now tell me what's bothering you. What happened on this mission? Go on, spill!'

Alex told her everything. He outlined the circumstances, the poetry and the assassination attempt, even the fact that Ash and Yassen had been responsible. He felt a twinge of guilt as her face paled, but there was no point lying. Then he began to describe the Non-Conformists. He told her about the guitar lessons, the painted garage, the footie matches and the concert. He tried to explain what it had been like to belt out that song into the microphone, and the peaceful feeling of belonging he had felt as they lounged in the library or on the field, enjoying a mix of highbrow discussion and low humour. Jack was silent for a long time after he'd finished, twirling her cold noodles round her fork.

'So that's why you're in such a foul mood,' she said at last. 'You've been missing these kids.'

'I'm sorry, Jack. I didn't mean to make life difficult for you,' Alex said. She gave him a brief smile.

'And you told them about your spying? You must have been either very mad, or very sane. And then Mrs Jones had you dragged bodily back to London?'

‘She would have done if I'd made her.'

'And the whole reason Blunt assigned you in the first place is because he wanted you to shoot this guy Yassen, who turns out to be alive?'

'Uh, yeah, pretty much.'

'That bastard! He has got it in for you, I swear! I've got a mind to go down there and give him a bollocking! Have they actually forbidden you to go back to Essex?'

'They said I wasn’t to contact the others again because of the security leak. That I made.'

'Hmmm.' Jack pondered. 'This Roberta.'

'Yeah?'

'What would she suggest, do you think?'

'She would say…go down there and give him a bollocking. They all would."

'What you say that's what we do?'

'I like the idea. In principle. But we need some kind of plan; he's got all that government clout and other crap - '

'Don't swear, Alex.'

Alex was still rolling his eyes when the doorbell rang. 'I'll get it,' he said, hauling himself to his feet.

'If it's anyone from MI6 we can bollock them on the spot.'

'And she tells me not to swear,' Alex sighed as if to himself as he left the room. Jack shook her head and swallowed a mouthful of cold noodles. She thought he already looked happier, just from getting it off his chest. She liked that. It made her feel, if only for a few minutes, not entirely useless.

In the hall, Alex pulled the door open and froze.

'Eagle!?' he yelled, then slammed the door in the man's face. An insistent knocking immediately started up on the other side.

'Cub, be reasonable, open up.' Alex opened the door again and the SAS man stumbled across the threshold and landed in Jack's arms.

'Alex, who the hell is this?' she demanded, shoving him off her.

'He's one of the guys from the SAS unit,' Alex glowered. 'Eagle, we call him. God knows why.'

'So he's with MI6?' Jack asked, her eyes glittering.

'Involved, yeah.'

'Right.' She took a step towards Eagle, who eyed her with alarm. 'You can just get back to your cold, conniving, self-absorbed boss and tell him – '

'Wait, wait, I don't know why you're going off on _me_ now!'

'Hello, you're the ones who dragged me kicking and screaming away from my friends just last week!' Alex snarled, though he was having doubts as to whether he actually had the right to dress Eagle down. The man had helped to wrestle Wolf off him, and he was still sporting impressive bruises where Alex had kicked him.

'Why are you here?' he asked more calmly.

'I'm a deputation, I guess. The guys – I mean Fox and Snake – and I have been thinking about the way Wolf went off on you, and, uh…look, can we sit down?'

Alex had never seen anyone looking so awkward. The sight of the big SAS man cringing like this was pretty comical, in fact. They ushered him through to the living room and settled on the sofa, while he took the armchair opposite them.

'Look, Alex,' Eagle sighed, 'we were jerks to you in the Beacons. We didn't even have anything against you, we just sat back and let Wolf rip it out of you because he was the leader. He's a quick thinker, you know, brilliant in a crisis, but he's damned unstable if you ask me. All he thinks about is his profession; you saw how he reacted when you told your friends the truth. We think he's got away with crap for too long, so we thought you might like to know we're going to be standing up to him a bit from now on.'

'Ri-ight,' Alex said slowly. Beside him Jack's face was still dark with suspicion.

'So anyway, we thought we should make it up to you somehow?'

'Oh God. Like how?'

'Well, Fox thought we could maybe take you on a pony ride along the beach sometime…'

'What beach? Anyway, I hate riding.'

'Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine? Anyway, we overrode him, no pun intended. So from all the kicking and screaming…and jaw-kicking…I take it you didn't want to leave the school?'

There wasn't much to say to that. 'Nope.'

'How'd you like to come along with me and blackmail Mr Blunt this afternoon?'

'Sounds like fun. When do we leave?'

'Right now, if you want.' Eagle stood up. 'Is that OK with you?' he asked Jack.

'Yes, and I will have your bag ready when you get back and if you don't  _bring_  him back I will not rest until I have hunted you down and sawed off your head with a rusty spoon.'

Eagle gulped. 'You have my word,' he vowed. 'C'mon, Cub, let's get going.'

*     *     *

Eagle drove them down to Liverpool Street in the same Jeep they had used on the assignment. As they drew up outside the bank Alex saw Snake, Fox and Wolf waiting for them. Snake and Fox looked nervous, Wolf livid.

'Hi, gents,' Eagle said, marching up with a hand on Alex's shoulder. 'Let's do this thing.'

'You stop this now or I swear you'll regret it!' Wolf snarled, stepping in front of them.

'Pack it in, man. We owe this to Cub and you know it.'

'Cub,' Wolf said. 'Don't be an idiot. You're a professional spy now;  you can't just go blowing the Official Secrets Act whenever you feel like it and getting attachments all over the place – '

'Like a Swiss Army knife,' Eagle remarked.

'These men are risking their careers just to get you back to your friends-for-five-minutes…'

'What?' Alex blurted, stopping dead.

'Don't listen to him, Cub, we can make our own choices,' Fox said softly. They entered the building, leaving Wolf fuming on the pavement. After a moment he stormed after them.

They halted outside the office that Alex had been brought to so many times before. He'd always entered before or after a mission, at the beck and call of MI6. Only once before had he come here of his own volition, with Sabina. That had ended well…not. Would this time be different? He hoped so.

Wolf came hurrying up the stairs. He came to a halt in front of them, glaring.

'You boys want to think about this,' he said.

'Blunt knows when he's on to a loser, Wolf-man,’ Eagle replied. ‘He  _can_  be reasonable.'

'I hope you're right.' Wolf was calming down a bit. 'You've been a good team, I wouldn't want to lose you.'

'Wolf, are you actually  _paying us a compliment_?'

'Hey, I can’t go on active service without my unit. You know what they'll do to me if you guys get yourselves discharged? They'll give me a whole bunch of rookies to lick into shape. Lots of little Cubs.' Wolf rolled his eyes expressively.

Snake was knocking on the door. 'Right, you guys all ready?' he asked. Alex saw him swallow and wondered exactly what it was K Unit were planning to do.

'Come on, Wolf,' Eagle said suddenly. 'Do something decent for once in your life.' The door opened. Eagle seized Wolf and, ignoring his protests, dragged him into the office. Once they were inside they all fell silent. Alex looked across at Alan Blunt, sitting composed as ever behind his desk, Mrs Jones at his shoulder.

'You wished to see me?' he said.

'Mr Blunt.' Eagle seemed to be elected spokesperson. 'I wanted to tell you that if you don't allow Cub back to see his friends, I will be handing in my notice.'

'That is a great shame for you. And your colleagues, what do they have to say?'

'We'd just like to reiterate Eagle's ultimatum,' Fox said calmly.

'All of you?' Blunt raised his eyebrows. Fox glanced over his shoulder at Wolf and sighed.

'Not quite all, I think,' he admitted.

'I see.' Alex thought he could detect a note of smugness in Blunt's voice now.

'Alex.' It was Mrs Jones speaking now. Alex sensed somehow that the argument was already over, and that anything Mrs Jones said would simply be to pick up the pieces. 'You must understand that we simply cannot allow such flouting of our security policies. Once the assassination attempt had failed, it was no longer an economic use of our human resources to have you there…'

'I wouldn't say it was an economic use of your human resources to chuck away an entire SAS unit either,' Wolf growled.

Snake clapped him wordlessly on the shoulder. No-one else moved or spoke. Blunt's face hadn't changed, but where it had been still before, it was now rigid. Alex saw that the balance had been tipped. They might be able to part with three rank-and-file soldiers, but not a unit leader.

'If he has already told them, it can't do any more harm…' Mrs Jones suggested quietly. Blunt considered briefly.

‘Although the immediate danger to Miss Foster is over, I am sure that Scorpia will make another attempt in due course. It might be…beneficial…to have you all back in the field until we can eradicate the threat once and for all. All arrangements regarding cover and accommodation are still in place. I want you back down there as soon as possible.' With a nod, he indicated that the interview was over.

'Oh, so now it was all  _his_  idea,' Alex grumbled as soon as they were outside.

'Don't knock it, Cub; at least he did what we wanted.'

'True. Guess he can't afford to lose that much face. You guys totally swung it for me, thanks a lot.' Alex knew better than to praise Wolf lavishly. He just grinned at the unit  _tout court._

'Aw Cub, don't!' Eagle exclaimed, pretending to blush.

'Come on,' Wolf grunted, 'if we've got to tail after those kids for another month we might as well get going.'

*     *     *

Jack was waiting in the hall when they got back, Alex's bag packed up at her feet. Alex felt a twinge of guilt at the veiled worry in her eyes.

'Don't worry about me,' he said softly, hugging her. 'This really isn't dangerous compared to the other stuff I've been doing. I'll call every night if you like.'

'Bye, Alex. Just don't…don't get caught in any explosions, OK? Or…side tracked into anything more dangerous.'

'Contrary to appearances, I don't actually have a death wish, Jack.'

'Clean your teeth.'

'I always do.' He jogged out to the Jeep, slung his bag into the boot and scrambled in next to Eagle.

'Could have fooled me about the teeth,' the man muttered, poking him. 'Move over, you're squishing me.'

'You wouldn't be squished if you weren't so fat,' Alex quipped back – one low blow deserved another, in his opinion. He twisted round to wave to Jack. Standing in the doorway she looked very alone, the last outpost of his old life. Briefly he wondered what he was doing, flinging himself willingly back into the world of espionage.

_Waterloo, couldn't escape if I wanted to…_

Was it really his fate to lead this life? Alex felt a twinge of misgiving. It was always when he thought his assignments were over that he was plunged into the most dangerous part. But this was different. He just wanted to see his friends. And he wouldn't get sidetracked.


	14. Reunion

Clara woke up with that overwhelming rush of relief that accompanies the realisation that it is Saturday morning. No school. No coursework. Just rest.

Despite all the sadness and anxiety of the past few days, she found herself feeling oddly optimistic for the first time since the disco, as though, despite the difficulties of the present, she was certain that more good things would soon come. It might have been the crisp November sunshine streaming through the window, or the fact that it was the weekend, or the success of the previous night’s rehearsal. It had been bitter work in places, chopping up and reassigning the parts to fit around Alex’s absence, watching Josh and Taylor in particular trying to edge around the gap he’d filled between them. But productive. They were sounding good.

She went to the window and pulled back the curtains, letting the light in fully. The sky was huge and blue, practically summery, and the street looked cheerful, orderly, right. Clara smiled as she flung on track pants and a tee-shirt, her mind turning eagerly towards breakfast. Her sleep had been free of nightmares. Clearly seeing her friends and practising hard was the key. She’d keep busy today, pile through her coursework, a little Latin revision and then run over her piano parts for the concert again…

She was on her way to the kitchen when a knock sounded at the front door. She changed course, slid back the security chain and was turning the door handle when two thoughts occurred to her, one on top of the other.

The first was that it was very stupid to just open the door when it could be an assassin on the other side.

The second was that there had been something different about the street when she looked from her window. There was a bloody great army jeep parked on it.

*     *     *

Alex was standing on Clara’s porch, staring at her door knocker and feeling stupidly nervous. The fact was that he had no idea how Clara would receive him, or the others. Sure, Roberta had told him in the heat of the moment that he was a hero, but that was before Wolf had revealed that he’d made friends with them for money and then vanished him into thin air.

K Unit were forming a supportive line behind him, but that could just as easily turn into a barrier to escape, should the need arise. He was, effectively, hemmed in.

'Knock on the door already,' Eagle whined.

'Alright, alright, don't rush me OK?' He thought he'd achieved an acceptably blasé tone. He seized the knocker, raised it and thundered.

A mercifully short pause, and then the door flew open to reveal Clara. Her face flickered through a wild variety of expressions before she managed to rein it in to polite interest.

'Alex?'

There wasn't much to say to that. 'Yup.'

'You're back?'

'Yup?'

'How and why?' she asked, her voice too level. ‘Am I still in trouble? In trouble again?’

'Uhhm.' He shrugged. 'I mean yes you are, and I’m here to protect you, but I’m also here because…I wanna? Are we still on for the concert?’

‘You know you don’t have to do that now we know why you’re here,’ Clara said. ‘If you don’t want to.’

‘Of course I want to!’ he exclaimed.

'Oh _Alex_!’ Clara suddenly dashed forward and threw her arms around him.

‘Oof!’ Alex said. K Unit scattered like they were scared of getting the same treatment.

'Oh my God, I've missed you!' Clara was saying. Suddenly the floodgates had opened. 'I was so freaked out when you vanished like that, it's been hell trying to organise the band and we're all in a sort of soup of despondency and being blanked by the cool kids…’ She looked properly at K Unit for the first time. ‘What’s the deal with _them_?’

‘Erm,’ Wolf said, ‘well, we’re an SAS Unit who’ve been assigned as protection detail – ’

Clara flapped her hand impatiently.

‘I know _that_ , I mean are you still yelling at Alex and shaking him and I don’t know what? Was it them who made you leave, Alex?’

‘Um, they sort of carried it out…we got ordered out of the field by MI6 but these guys swung it so that we could come back.’

‘Huh.’ Clara squinted at K Unit for a moment, but then her delight at seeing Alex bubbled to the surface again.

‘I’m so _happy_ to see you!’ she said. ‘I can’t believe you really came back! Come in, come in!' She dragged him towards the door, turned and waved K Unit forward. 'Come  _in_ , come _in_!' They all shuffled forwards uncertainly into the house and Clara slammed the door behind them.

'Stewart,’ she said. ‘You other guys never actually introduced yourselves.’

‘You can call us by our code names,’ Fox said. ‘Fox, Eagle, Wolf.’

‘Oh my God,’ Clara said. A look of incredulous delight flashed across her face before she forced it back to neutral. ‘Wow, Eagle, you’re bruised.’

'Cub kicked me in the face.'

'I bet you deserved it,’ Clara said. ‘We shall have words.' She scowled at Wolf, then spun back to Alex and hugged him again. He felt his ribs creak.

'Want a drink?’ she asked. ‘Tea, coffee?'

‘Cup of tea,' Alex panted.

'Right, of course. Come through to the living room, sit down! Wait, I have to call the others!' While Alex and K Unit lowered themselves into armchairs, Clara gabbled into the phone.

'Rob, Rob, guess who's here, it's Alex!'

Roberta's shriek was audible from across the room.

'Can you call round the others? I have tea to make! Great! Bye, see you! So happy!' She slammed the phone down, cried, 'you're here, you're here!' hugged him once more and plunged out of the room.

'Oh my God,' said Fox and put his head in his hands.

‘Damn, Cub, I think she missed you,’ Eagle said.

‘Seems like it,’ Alex said, pulling out his phone.

‘What are you doing?’ Fox asked him.

‘Calling for back up,’ Alex replied. He heard the dialling tone, and then a voice said,

'Yo.'

'Taylor, it's me, Alex!'

'Alex?! Where are you?'

'I'm at Clara's.'

'You mean you're back?' Taylor sounded even more incredulous than Clara had done.

'Yes.' Alex said. ‘I’m sorry about – I, uh, I’ll explain everything when I see you, but can you come over here now? Clara keeps trying to hug me!'

'I get you,’ Taylor said at once. ‘Hang in there, bruv, I'm on my way.'

Alex flicked his phone off just as Clara reappeared, skittering into the room at alarming speed seeing as she was carrying five mugs of scalding tea.

'So brilliant,' she almost sang as she distributed mugs to K Unit. Alex was realising that he wasn’t at all used to people being this happy to see him. He hoped K Unit might be able to handle some of this display of emotion, but if anything they looked more uncomfortable than he did. Really, Alex thought irritably, they were being totally useless. These were the men trained to maintain the security of the nation, and all they could do was sit and twitch.

He was interrupted from his mental rant by the rattle of a bike pulling up outside.

'Someone's here already!' Clara exclaimed, clutching at his arm. He held his hot tea out of her reach as best he could. Next moment Taylor opened the door without knocking and strode into the room.

'Hey,' he said.

'Hi,' Alex managed.

Clara relinquished her grip on Alex's arm and bore down on Taylor who stood, alone and unflinching, in the centre of the room. He didn't attempt to escape as she flung her arms around him, but instead returned the embrace with equal enthusiasm. There was a pause, and then Clara began to wriggle. Taylor refused to let her budge an inch.

'The trick,' he said over her shoulder, 'is to out-hug her. A little oxygen deprivation will soon calm her down.' K Unit were watching him with admiringly.

'Taylor,' came Clara's muffled voice, 'can't…breath…'

'Clara, you mustn't hug Alex if he doesn't want to be hugged,' Taylor said reasonably. 'It isn't kind.'

'Yes it is, it's an expression of affection.'

'There's a fine line between a hug and a strangle.'

'Well, when you put it like that…okay, no more hugging.'

'Promise?'

'Promise. NOW LET ME BREATH FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!'

Taylor released Clara, who staggered backwards and collapsed onto the sofa.

'Oxygen! Sweet oxygen!'

'Thank you so much,' Alex said fervently.

'No problem.' Taylor grinned. 'So…you didn't get court-marshalled?'

'Er, no…'

'Cool.' Although he’d rescued Alex from Clara, Taylor still seemed rather guarded, and Alex remembered that before he’d knocked at the door he’d been worried about his reception. Right. He’d have to use some words.

‘Guys,’ he said, ‘I get what it must have looked like, me up and vanishing like that. I swear I didn’t have a choice.’

‘We know that now,’ Clara said at once, glancing at K Unit. Alex followed her eyes. He wasn’t sure Wolf had been one hundred per cent sorry up until that moment, but now he looked like he wanted to sink through the floor.

‘We thought you must have found us pretty weird,’ Taylor said, trying to sound joking and failing miserably.

‘I mean – ’ Alex gestured. ‘I did, but I’m back.’

‘Can’t say fairer than that,’ Taylor said.

The three of them settled on the sofa, Alex in the middle.

'I'm glad you're back,' Clara said softly.

'Yeah, me too,' Taylor muttered. They both wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Gently, this time. Alex supposed it wasn't so bad really, being hugged.

'So how'd you escape?' Clara asked.

' _We_  all went and threatened to give our notice if Blunt didn't let him come back,'Wolf said loudly.

'Oh, er, wow.'

'I don't think you'll need to have any more words with them; they're alright really,' Alex grinned. 'Here comes someone else.'

There was the roar of a motorbike from outside, and Alex caught a glimpse of Roberta's distinctive pink hair under the helmet. Someone, Josh from the look of it, was riding pillion. K Unit all shuffled about in their seats and fiddled with their hair.

Despite what he’d said, Alex enjoyed watching them sweat.

Clara went out to open the door and returned with Roberta beside her, clad in full motorbike leathers and pulling off her helmet. She looked coolly around the room, but when her eyes lit on Alex her face shifted into an expression of wild delight.

'Alex!' She bounded across the room and hauled him off the sofa and into her arms.

'Not you too!' Alex wailed.

'Huh?' Rob said quizzically.

'What is it with girls and strangling people they say they love?'

‘I don’t _love_ you, I’ve got unfinished business with you,’ Rob said, pushing him away. She turned to K Unit.

'I was done with him when you dragged him away into the night,' she said crisply, pointing at Alex. 'Do you know how it's haunted me, never teaching him the chord of B minor 7th?'

'We're sorry…wait, the chord of what?' Fox asked helplessly.

'Anyway, professionally speaking you guys really cocked it up for yourselves. Do you know, I didn't even believe Alex when he first came out with all this spying bullshit? But you all storming in and losing it pretty much proved it, didn’t it?'

'Rob, Rob,' Alex called. 'You can lay off, they've made it up to me!'

'Well, good.' Roberta breathed out heavily through her nose and stalked to the sofa.

Alex actually felt pretty sorry for K Unit now. He supposed Roberta’s disapproval was a different thing from Clara’s and Taylor’s. they looked utterly crushed. There was an awkward silence before Alex noticed Josh still standing silently in the corner.

'Hi Josh.'

'Hi Alex,' Josh grunted. 'Y'alright?'

'Yes.'

'Catch the football last night?'

'No.'

'Chelsea won two-nil.'

'Cool.'

'You support Chelsea?'

'Yes.' Nice, sensible questions with an easy answer. Alex silently thanked God for Josh.

Jane didn't make it until the middle of the day – something about an extra orchestra rehearsal – but when she did she arrived with a bang.

'I've brought my violin!' she announced. 'Why are you all sitting there gazing adoringly into each other’s' eyes? The concert is in two weeks.  _Two weeks_ , people! Come on, let’s go go go!'

'Alright, Jane, alright!' Clara said. 'Give us a minute, here!'

'I've brought my guitar!' Rob called, springing to her feet.

'On the back of a motorbike?'

'Yes. Come on, Alex, get cracking!'

'Oh no-o-o,' Alex groaned. 'You are all complete monsters!'

'If you didn't want to practise, Alex, you shouldn't have brought your bass,' Rob told him. Alex grimaced, caught out. He’d come to meet Clara with the instrument on his back.

'You know you love it really,’ Roberta said. Now give me a chord of G major.'

Alex obeyed.

'D minor? E flat major?'

He rattled them off, feeling quite pleased with himself.

'And now I'm going to teach you a new one. Third finger on the second fret, bridge these two strings…'

'OK, bridge…OW!'

'Relax your wrist, relax…you've got it. Now play.'

'Is that B minor 7th?' Alex asked, strumming a rhythm.

'It is indeed. And now you can play bass guitar.'

'Oh good.'

'Let's take Monster, straight from the top!' Clara bellowed. Her saxophone was slung, glittering and resplendent, across her chest. Josh had found himself an empty box to drum on.

'We should go,' Wolf said, standing abruptly.

'Come on, it's only a coven of music boffs,' Alex crowed.

'We need to stake out the perimeter.'

'Sure, sure, I know it makes you feel important.'

'Impudent little…' Wolf muttered, heading for the door. On an impulse Alex followed, catching up with the in the porch.

'Guys?'

'What do you want, Cub?' Wolf asked.

'Look, I am grateful – '

'Grateful? You're suicidal.'

'I just wanted to say I do appreciate it. I like those guys…'

'Cub, you're not trying to tell us about your feelings, are you?' Eagle said.

'No.' Alex gave up. 'Just…thanks.'

They all smiled suddenly. 'No problem, Cub,' Fox said, stepping forward.

'Do _not_ try to hug me!'

'Wouldn't dream of it. Now get your ass back inside.' Alex darted back through the door and slammed it shut behind him.

'There you are!' Clara called. 'Come on, Alex, you’re lead vocalist for this one. Take it away.'

On the whole it was probably a good thing K Unit were gone. He forced himself to belt out the notes even though he felt like dying, but it couldn't have sounded that bad because Clara said:

'You're coming on, Alex, really coming on.'

They ran through the other songs in their set. It was hard to tell without all the proper drums and amps, but it sounded like things were coming together.

'You've been practising those riffs, haven't you?' Rob said approvingly.

'To the point of obsessiveness.'

' T'is the obsessive who make the world go round,’ Clara said. ‘Come on, let's try _Mercy_. Jane, I think you should sing this one.'

'But it's got so much electric violin, that doesn't make sense.'

'I can do synth sounds on the keyboard. I just think it suits your voice. You did so good in Waterloo.'

'OK, I'll  _try_  to sing it,' Jane said warily.

'If it doesn't work you can go back on to violin,' Clara promised. 'OK, rhythm guitar please, Taylor.'

It was the longest and most gruelling rehearsal Alex had ever sat through. He was almost glad whenever he had to sing. It was less mentally exhausting than thinking his way through all the bass chords. And yet he was happy. He could feel the joy emanating from the others; they constantly tried to pull him into the middle of things, physically and mentally. Re-establishing old bonds. It had been ages since he'd felt this sense of belonging. They knew his secret, and he knew theirs. Their weirdness. The music.

Whatever he'd expected when he told them the truth, it hadn't been this.

Clara finally called a halt. 'It's ten to eight, guys, I think you'd better decamp to your respective homes.'

'She's kicking us out,' Jane translated.

'That’s right. Fabulous rehearsal guys. We can fill in our entry form on Monday.'

There was a flurry of activity as everyone packed up their instruments. Alex hoisted his guitar case onto his back and looked around at the others, fiddling around with strings and tuning pegs and all those things he’d never touched until a month ago. Suddenly he couldn't hold the emotion in any more.

'I love you guys,' he blurted.

'Oh, Alex.' Clara's eyes were suddenly too bright. With a weary sigh Alex spread his arms to hug her. 'I'm so glad you're back,' she whispered again, embracing him tightly.

'Yeah, me too.' Alex gently extricated himself and moved to hug each of the others.

'We all succumb to smooshyness eventually,' Josh remarked when his turn came, thumping Alex on the back.

'Ow, bruv.'

'Come on, let's break this love fest up already!' Josh yelled. 'Rob, you taking me home or what?'

'Yes, you insensitive bug. Bye, Alex. On Monday I'll start teaching you alternative fingerings for chords.’

‘I thought you said I could play bass now!’ Alex moaned. ‘There’s _more_?’

‘Yeah, sometimes it’s easier to move between two chords if you use a different fingering,’ Roberta said unsympathetically. ‘Or in case you bust a string or something in a concert.’ With this parting shot she strode from the room, Josh in her wake.

'See you on Monday, Alex,' Jane called, hurrying after them. Alex, Taylor and Clara were left alone in the living room.

'See you two fish whenever,' Clara said, walking them to the door.

'Tomorrow probably.'

'Sounds good. Ciao!'

'God, my wrist hurts,' Alex griped as Taylor picked his bike up from beside the wall.

'She worked you pretty hard. Those girls can be right slave-drivers.'

'You're telling me. You're a braver man than I am.'

'Years of experience. You weren't doing so badly yourself.'

'I didn't quite expect that,' Alex admitted. 'You know, all the overjoyed hugging and stuff. I wasn't sure if she wouldn't be mad at me…'

'Why the hell would she have been mad at you?' Taylor demanded, twisting round on his bike. 'Sure, you fucked off in a hurry, but you saved her life.'

'Some people don't take that too well.'

'Some people are bastards,' Taylor shrugged.

'But I mean…' Alex scrabbled for the right words. He couldn't expect Taylor to sit there on his bike all night. 'I didn't think you would all have missed me that much. I can’t sing, I'm not that good at bass – '

'But we  _like_  you, frog!' Taylor interrupted, pushing off his bike. 'See you!'

His voice seemed to grow lower and quieter as he disappeared into the night. Alex vaguely remembered some science topic about wavelengths increasing or decreasing as an object moved away from or towards you. He'd missed most of it, of course.

He'd have to ask Clara on Monday.


	15. Signup

'This is it, guys,' Clara said in the car on Monday morning. She was edgy, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel as they waited for the traffic lights to turn. 'I've got our running order all worked out: we get three songs. Now we've gotta sign up.'

'Y'alright, bruv?' Taylor asked, poking Alex.

'Of course, why d'you ask?'

'Because you're looking vaguely green.'

'Oh, right.'

Alex couldn't deny it to himself; his stomach was churning with nerves. He'd managed not to think about it too much with everything that had been going on, but the fact remained: assassins or no assassins, in just under two weeks' time he would have to get up on stage, in front of hordes of teenagers all baying for blood, and make or break this band's reputation. It was a bigger thing that Roberta has assumed when she remarked 'kind of lame, isn't it?' in the canteen. Some cool kid somewhere had decided that it was the hot ticket for the evening, and suddenly it seemed like the whole school was going. The shootout at the nightclub might have also had something to do with it. It had given Clara a little bit of an aura of danger, but there was also a joke going round that she’d been shot for being bad at music. Or so the others had told him. Alex hadn't been back to school since the incident in the nightclub.

They drew up outside the school where Jane and Josh were waiting for them. It looked as though they were in the middle of some technical explanation; Josh was waving his hands around while Jane listened with fierce concentration. They broke off when they saw the car pull up and came drifting over.

'Morning all,' Josh said ironically. He nodded towards Alex. 'I give him five minutes once he walks through those gates.'

'What do you mean?' Alex demanded, seeing the grimaces and eye-rolls travelling round the rest of the band.

'You can expect…a bit of a reception this morning,' Clara explained. 'Quite a few people have been asking after you.’

‘Me?’ Alex said. ‘How come?’

‘Because you almost got shot in a nightclub and then disappeared,’ she said impatiently.

‘Also because you’re fit,’ Roberta said dryly from the backseat.

'Oh no,' Alex said.

'Oh yes,' Clara smirked.

' _Oh no._ '

'Oh  _yes_.'

'Come on, this could go on all morning,' Jane interrupted. 'I'm sure Alex will handle his admirers with tact and diplomacy. Now come  _on_ , I don't want to be late!'

'See you in lessons, Alex,' Josh called. ' _If_  you survive registration, that is.'

'Thanks, mate. Thank you so much.'

'Oh come on, Alex, it could be fun,' Taylor said as he, Alex and Clara hurried up the stairs to their form room.

'Well, whatever turns you on,' Clara sighed. 'Now just enter the room normally and you might have a chance to get to your seat.' She pushed open the door to the form room and stepped in.

'Hi, Clara!' somebody yelled.

'Yo Taylor, you catch the score on the football?'

They made their way to their chairs and sat down. It wasn't until they were well settled that one of the boys did a double take.

'Alex? I thought you were out of town?'

'Well, I got back.'

'Oh, cool.' Before the news could get round the teacher came sweeping in to do the register. A few people glanced back at Alex in surprise as he exited for his first class, but no-one stopped him. Still, was it really normal to pay so much attention to the absences of a classmate? It looked like the others had been right.

He made it to first period without undue attention, but as he was sliding into his seat the girl next to him stared in astonishment, then shot across the room to whisper to her friends. By the end of second period people were twisting round in their chairs to look at him.

Then the bell went and all hell broke loose.

'Alex!' he was intercepted by a pair of girls as soon as he stepped outside his classroom.

'Hi. Look, can we move, I'm blocking the door.'

He received a smouldering, 'you're so conscientious' look for that, before Taylor came bounding over.

'Hi girls,' he grinned, surreptitiously catching Alex's eye. One of the girls was just opening her mouth to answer when a boy Alex new vaguely grabbed him by the shoulder and yelled,

‘Hey Alex, is it true you were at that fight at the club? Were there really guns?’

‘Did Clara Foster really get shot for being so bad at music?’ somebody else yelled.

‘We asked them to put us out of our misery,’ Alex answered, and got a laugh from half the people in the corridor.

'Boys!'

The cluster of people around them all turned round to look. Clara was calling them, with Josh, Jane and Roberta around her. They were standing by the notice board where the sign-up list for the battle of the bands was displayed.  

'We're signing up!' Clara said.

'Good luck with that, boff!' one of the boys called. 'Maybe you'll play us a concerto or something.'

'It's pronounced con _shair_ to,' Clara said coolly. 'But actually a rock and roll version of a concerto isn't such a bad idea.' Alex and Taylor detached themselves from their fanclub and clustered around the notice board. Alex glanced around nervously; he hadn't bargained on doing this in front of an audience.

The signup sheet was pinned prominently in the middle, surrounded by flyers, already with several signatures from other bands. Clara pulled out a pen and added their name, _The Non-Conformists_ , just like it had been published in the local paper. To the right, she added the titles of their songs. _It’s_ _Raining Men. Mercy. Sugar, We're Going Down. Monster_.

 _'Monster_ , what's that about?' one of the girls asked.

'Drug abuse,' Rob said shortly.

'Oh. Well, sounds interesting.' She gave a brave, even cordial smile.

 _'It's Raining Men_ sucks,' someone else said.

'Well we're not really asking for your opinion, are we?' Jane called back.

'Actually we are,' Taylor pointed out as the crowd dispersed. 'I always did wonder what _Monster_ was about, Rob. The lyrics get pretty confusing.'

'I was running a temperature of nearly a hundred when I wrote them. My mum told me to stay in bed, but I was having all these really weird dreams and so I got up and drafted the song out in my nightdress. It just came to me. Then my mum caught me and went absolutely mental. But hey, aptitude is pain.'

Their days took on a rhythmic pattern. School, rehearse, get kicked out of the practise rooms, rant in Josh's garage and rehearse some more. Hot chocolate and brainstorming sessions at Clara's. The odd night off for homework. What with all that, Alex was sleeping better than he had done for months.

November arrived, and Josh drew a life size portrait of K Unit on the garage wall, and wreathed it round with blurry poppies. He lead them away in a fluttering trail, blowing across the field he had drawn to contain his friends, right up to where Alex sat, poring over his textbook. He replaced Alex's pen with a single flower, twirled absently between his fingers.

'Thanks, Josh,' Alex snorted, grappling with his bass.

'You're welcome.'

'It is rather doomed youf, isn't it?' Jane agreed, pacing in front of the painting.

'Nah, I just worked out how to draw a good blurry poppy, that's all.'

Alex had now decided once and for all that he was never taking a job in private security. Not that Clara was boring, but the way he was chained to her all the time was trying – for both of them, he suspected. Now that she knew the truth he spent the whole evening with her at her house, while K Unit patrolled outside. Not that it was awkward all the time, or even most. They talked, ate cookies or played games, did their homework – Alex was closer to being caught up on school than he had been for a long time. The others were spending more and more time with them, but they had to go home to their families sooner or later, and then he and Clara were stuck with each other. Often, when neither of them had work to do, they would be stuck for conversation, and then awkward silence would reign. It was during one such evening that Clara asked him about MI6.

'How many assignments have you done?' she enquired.

'Seven, but one of those was off my own bat.'

'Good Lord.' She absorbed this for a while. 'Why would you do that? I got the impression you hated spying.'

'I do, but you know, when you've been doing it for a while you find you just can't leave things alone.'

'Like when I can't stop myself from helping out year sevens massacring their music, even when it makes them hate me?'

'Yes, a bit like that. That's why they wanted me in the first place. Because I couldn’t leave well enough alone.'

'Tell me about it. Yassen…killed your uncle and then what?'

'I…well, it's complicated.'

'Begin at the beginning, then. And work your way through to the end. That's what I do when I write.'

'OK, the beginning. I suppose that would be when my uncle died. I was taken to the London office – they pretend to be a bank, you know – and they recruited me. Told me they would deport my housekeeper Jack if I didn't complete my uncle's assignment, and then they sent me off for training with the SAS. That was where I met Wolf and the others.'

'What were they like to train with?'

'Hell.'

'So they just recruited you, just like that? Sounds…risky.'

'My uncle had been training me how to drive and pickpocket and do karate and things. We could easily have afforded a private school, but he sent me to one of the toughest ones in the district so I could learn to look out for myself. And when I was at the bank, I wanted to see what was in my uncle's study, so I jumped out of the window of the office I was in and onto the flagpole, and then through the window of my uncle's.'

'And this was  _how_  high up?'

'Seventeen stories.'

'Bloody hell. Now I see why they hired you. What happened then?'

'You remember the Stormbreaker? A man called Herod Sayle was going to give one to every school in the country.'

'Yes. I was dreading trying to learn to work the thing, IT's not my strong point. But there was some kind of technical fault.'

'It wasn't a technical fault…'

Haltingly he told Clara the story of his first assignment, all the way up to his rooftop meeting with Yassen Gregorovich.

'And he didn't shoot you?' Clara was round eyed, watching him steadily. Alex spread his arms.

'I'm still here.'

'Did you ever find out why?'

'Yes, but…I'll come to that later.'

'Ah, you’re going to leave me in suspense now and re-incorporate the Yassen mystery later. I'm liking this. But it's getting late. You'd better be getting home, Scheherazade.'

The next day Clara told the rest of the Non-Conformists, in brief, what Alex had told her? It was odd, hearing his story related by someone else, especially the way Clara told it, putting everything in its proper place, making it flow. Then he kicked off from when he saw Skoda outside Brookland, the crane, the second assignment. They listened open-mouthed, exclaiming and swearing in appropriate places.

'He frikin' cloned  _himself_?' Roberta shrieked.

'Hey Alex, remember when I told you I'd hijacked a crane?' Taylor shook his head in disbelief.

‘Yeah, that was a weird coincidence.’

'I'm intrigued by the gadgets you mentioned; tell us about the gadgets,' Jane requested. Alex enumerated the equipment he had received on his first two missions.

'Hmm, the zit-cream sound interesting. I wonder what the chemistry would be for that.'

Their appetite for his stories was insatiable. Alex found that the more he told them, the easier it was, and he learned how to structure his accounts, introducing everything at the right place and time so that it sounded like a proper story. Josh started a new section on his wall: Alex Rider, Great Escapes. It contained comic-book style drawings of Alex smashing the jellyfish tank, yo-yoing his way onto the plane, jumping on a horse from in front of a railway train. But they did respond seriously when needed. He had been dreading telling them about his involvement with Scorpia, but had decided from Clara's first question that he would. They listened quietly, showing shock but no disgust.

'You don't hate me?' he asked when he was done.

'I don't think we're the ones to judge, really,' Clara murmured. 'You saved my life.'

*     *     *

'Can I borrow your Jeep?' Clara asked K Unit one school morning. 'I need to pick up Josh and Jane with a few instruments and my car's not big enough.'

'Sure,' Snake told her. 'It's licensed.' He walked with them to the Jeep, which crouched like some monstrous animal in the front drive.

'Cripes,' Clara exclaimed, leaning down to look under the seats. 'You could hide a small platoon under here.'

'Now, are you sure you can handle this thing?' Snake asked, holding up the keys. 'It's not quite like a normal car.'

'Only one way to find out,' Clara replied, vaulting into the driver's seat. She revved up the engine. 'Uh-oh, you're right…oh, come _on_ you bugger.'

'We're all going to die,' Alex remarked.

Their arrival to school was even more conspicuous than usual.

'Clara, where's your nice car?' a girl – the same one who had enquired about _Monster_ – asked.

'That thing ate it,' Clara replied as they struggled into the music block with the drum Josh had insisted on bringing in, saying that there was no way the school one was good enough.

'Oh, I see. Well, have a good rehearsal.' She and her friends hurried off, muttering in clear speculation. Alex could tell that they were definitely getting more and more attention, and that it seemed more curious and less hostile than it had done when he’d first arrived. Clara kept attributing it to his presence and calling him ‘the sex appeal.’

'Clara, don't you think this is getting a little serious?' Alex suggested as they left the school that afternoon. Clara had agreed to drive all six of them home, since they had the Jeep.

'What do you mean serious?' she asked.

'I mean suddenly we're trying to prove to the entire student body – and that music teacher who hates us – that we're good musicians. We kind of have to win now, don't we? Don't you think that's a bit of a tall order?'

'If we fail, Alex, we shall do it with style and accomplishment. These are the qualities of the true performer.

‘You’re not getting cold feet now, are you,' Jane added. ‘Didn’t you come flying all the way back from London just to help us win this thing?’

'I did and I’m not, but don't you think you might have bigger problems right now?'

'Bigger problems that I need to take my mind off,' Clara returned, climbing into the front seat. The others moved to their respective doors and clambered in too. Alex was last.

He settled into his seat, then stilled. Something was wrong. All the others were motionless, quiet, stranded like driftwood at low tide,

Clara was completely frozen, transfixed as though by a snake. Alex looked to her left and saw why.

Yassen Gregorovich was sitting in the front passenger seat.


	16. Threat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where the plot gets a little extra, I'm afraid.

'I want you to drive in the direction of Joshua's house,' Yassen said evenly, pulling on his seatbelt. Clara was staring at him, one hand clenched on the steering wheel so tightly that the shape of her knuckles was clearly visible through the skin.

'Alex?' she asked in a low voice.

'Do it.'

Clara nodded and turned the key in the ignition, then put the Jeep into gear. Her hands were shaking and Alex could see the first flickers of panic igniting in her eyes.

'Are you alright?' Yassen asked. 'Shall I drive?'

Clara responded with some very colourful language and squared up in her seat. Alex was glad to see it. Any thoughts he’d had about Yassen sparing his life had been driven out of his head, replaced with fury. There he sat, poised and elegant, waiting to slaughter Clara and her friends and toy with them first. Clara turned onto the main road and slammed the gear-stick, accelerating far past the speed limit. The engine snarled as the speedometer touched sixty. They reached a red light and she stomped on the break, bringing them to a screeching halt. Alex could see why she was driving the way she was. It gave him a kind of savage satisfaction to see Yassen getting flung against his seatbelt like the rest of them.

'Oh, for God's sake,' Josh groaned from the back. 'Slow down, you crazy boffin.'

'Soz, guys.'

'I am so going to kill K Unit,' Alex said, trying to encourage this calm while it lasted.

'You won't get the chance,' Yassen told him.

'And yet I might, I might.' Alex spoke with more conviction than he felt. 'Just follow my lead, OK guys?' he added. Yassen probably already expected him to try something, so there was no harm in warning the others to be alert.

They were passing Josh's house now. Clara slowed slightly, waiting for instructions. Yassen was drawing breath to speak when Alex lunged forwards, clamping a hand over his eyes and snatching for his gun.

'Bail out!' he yelled. His fired Yassen's pistol and a bullet slammed into the dashboard, triggering the airbag. Alex wrenched the key out of the ignition as the airbag exploded into Yassen’s face, and sprang out into the road, hitting the remote button to lock the doors.

He saw that all the others had managed to get out. They were scrambling to their feet, wide eyes fixed on him.

'Run!' he yelled, diving off the road. He kept himself at the back of the group, twisting round to watch for pursuit. 'Try to get across the park, get to the main road!' They were past Josh's house now, in the belt of trees that surrounded his garage and cut it off from the park. Alex couldn't see anyone, but suddenly he heard shouts and the sound of feet to their right. Yassen had backup!

'The garage!' he panted, changing direction, sprinting left. He put on a spurt of speed, and suddenly in front of him everyone was skidding to a halt as the rough walls of Josh's studio loomed up in front of them. Alex flung the door wide to let them pile through, dashed in after them and rammed the heavy bolt home.

'Bullets don't go through concrete,' he panted, on his knees by the door. 'We might be able to stay locked in here for a while. Hopefully bloody Wolf and co.'ll track us here.' He struggled to his feet. 'Hide, stay quiet, get ready to run if I say.'

The only light came from the dim autumn sun shining through the high window. They crouched behind the sheeted furniture that filled the corners of the garage, their breathing sounding horribly loud. The white sheets seemed luminous in the twilight. There was nothing to do but try to calm their fear, and stay alert, and wait.

There were rustles and shouts from outside.

'You reckon they could be in there?'

'I shall check.' Alex heard the smooth voice of the Russian, and then a motorised hack saw was slid through the gap in the door. The circular blade began to spin, showering sparks, sinking through the bolt. Alex sat frozen, willing the others to keep their nerve, to stay quiet. He was prepared to beg the Russian to leave them alive if he had to. Would he get the chance, he wondered, or would Yassen gun them all down as soon as he entered?

The door swung open and Yassen stepped slowly into the room. He took about three paces and froze, head bowed, eyes flickering from side to side.

At least there was no-one for him to see. They were all well-hidden behind the sheeted furniture. The assassin’s eyes drifted to the paintings on the walls, all dreamlike in the semi-darkness: the band sprawling in a park, K Unit and the poppies, the Great Escapes mural. His mouth pulled up in a slight smile as he took it in.

Then suddenly his head snapped round, and the next instant he was sprinting down the garage. From a stack of chairs beside the wall that held only Josh's photorealistic extension to the room, a sound had come. Somebody had moved. Now Yassen was streaking towards the pile of chairs that stood against the painted wall...

...but, of course, he didn't know it was painted.

Time seemed to halt for a single heart-stopping second as Yassen ran full-tilt into the wall, then reeled backwards, his hands flying to his face.

' _Run_!' Alex roared, flying for the door. He saw their dark shapes spring up all around him and dash forwards. Clara was just ahead of him, almost in the doorway. Alex was almost daring to hope that they were going to escape, going to make it, when she suddenly halted with a muffled shriek.

'Nobody move,' a female voice said calmly. 'I am holding a gun to her head.'

Julia Rothman stepped into the room, dragging Clara by her hair. 'Line up against the wall.' Slowly Alex put his hands behind his head and backed up against the wall, facing the door. The others stood either side of him. Julia Rothman paused to give him a satisfied nod, then turned away.

'What's the damage, Mr Gregorovich?' she enquired.

'I think my nose is broken,' Yassen said. From across the room Roberta's voice came, cold and derisive.

'Think of it as your own personal crumple zone, darling.'

Yassen turned towards them, lowering his hands from his face, and blood dripped down and spattered the front of his white silk shirt.

 _Good,_ Alex thought.

Mrs Rothman stood in the centre of the room, next to the drum kit. She reached out and ran a hand slowly over the snare drum, examining every metal rivet.

'Get your hands off it, you bitch,' Josh. His scarred arms were bared and his hair fell forward over his dark glowering eyes.

'Well, you have been in the wars, my dear.' Mrs Rothman smiled at him. Her finger hovered on the rim of the drum for a moment, then withdrew. 'Are these yours?'

Josh remained silent.

'I think we need to discuss my rules, young man,' Mrs Rothman said softly. 'When I ask you a question, you answer it, or I can very easily make you regret your non-compliance.' As well as Yassen there were three other Scorpia agents in the room, youngish men with blank faces. Josh glanced over them and then back to Mrs Rothman.

'They were bought for me,' he explained loudly, 'so I guess they're mine, but I share them with Jane.' He draped an arm over Jane's shoulders, leaned back against the wall where he was sitting and stared at Mrs Rothman, exuding insolence.

'What a detailed history,' she murmured, turning away. 'And this keyboard. Yours, Clara?'

'It's all Josh's here,' Clara answered shortly.

'Such a musical group. Not quite your scene, I would have thought, Alex. But then you're not here from choice, are you?'

'I am,' Alex growled at her. 'I chose to come back.'

'And learn guitar?'

'Bass,' Rob interrupted. 'I'm teaching him bass.'

'Are you really?' Mrs Rothman said. Venom glittered in her eyes. ‘Perhaps it would have been more to the point if he had coached you in unarmed combat instead?' A falsely sweet smile spread across Mrs Rothman's face. Alex saw Clara's lip curling with disgust as she looked at it. Mrs Rothman stared balefully at Alex. 'It was so pitiful to watch you trying to spread your skills among six, when on your own you could have escaped so easily. All those teenagers, following you like sheep.' She turned to Clara. 'I hear you are very skilful on that keyboard, my dear, but it is not going to help you now.'

'Are you sure? I could play something for you; that will buy me a few minutes.'

'Hmmm, no thank you. And now...' Mrs Rothman's voice was suddenly like ice... 'you see that I am going to kill you, because you were a silly little girl who decided to communicate your artistic ideals to the world and someone has paid me a substantial sum to silence you. The client is a fool; the truth is that you can do no harm with your words or your music, and Scorpia shall reap the benefit.

'I like to think I could have done a little bit of "harm," ' Clara disagreed. Alex wondered how much longer she could last before she lost it. 'Ever heard of the Live Eight concert?'

'From what I have heard, poverty is not yet history.'

'Was Scorpia established in a day? Give it time.'

'I am not here to debate ethics with you, and I certainly don’t intend to give you time. Yassen, you other three, take these outside and kill them.'

 _Ah, now we come to it_ , Yassen thought.

'Clara,' Jane said. Clara was running a hand through her hair, her eyes darting everywhere. ' _Clara!_ ' Jane called more loudly. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry we've never got on...'

'Listen to me.' Clara grabbed Jane’s hand and began to speak very fast, the words tumbling out over each other. 'I don't hate you. I admire you very much, I think you are a wonderful musician, thank you, thank you for joining my band...'

'It's going to be OK, Jane,' Josh said steadily, rubbing her back. His was the only calm face; he was still the drummer, holding the whole band together...

'How're we going to cover it up, Mrs Rothman?' one of the men was asking. 'Just leave the bodies here for the police to find?'

'I'm awfully sorry about all this,' Alex apologised. He thought he sounded like someone from an old war film, keeping a stiff upper lip. 'I screwed up...'

'Shut it, Rider-frog, that bitch is right, you did your best,' Roberta said. Her hand closed on his arm, clenching it tight. 'I managed to teach you alternative fingerings for every chord we use in our set, I'm just sorry you don't get to put it into practise...'

'We can blow up the south wall, as Ash planned,' Julia Rothman answered the agent. 'Make it seem like an accident with the building.'

'...I'd have found some stupidly difficult fantastic piece for you to play them all in,' Rob continued. Alex laughed hysterically, too loud and high.

'And just think,' Clara said, her voice heavy and hollow like a funeral bell, 'if you'd never got mixed up in my choir, Taylor, you'd be playing kick-around right now.'

'Oh God, Clara. It's a hard choice, but I'd rather have the music.'

'I think,' Clara whispered, 'I think you'd have found it eventually, by yourself. You're too good to just not notice.'

'But I – ' Taylor swallowed, shook his head, and when he spoke his voice was lighter. 'Looks like we're never gonna get to do that concert, guys. Maybe just as well?'

'Concert?' Mrs Rothman wheeled around. 'Taylor, did you say that you and your friends are playing in a concert?'

'Yes.'

A cruel glitter crept into her eyes. 'Well,' she said, 'it would be a shame to leave a hole in the programme, wouldn't it? I would be interested to hear how you perform; particularly, Alex, how you have come on under your...rather unlikely tutor.' Roberta met her eyes in a hollow death stare.

'Mr Gregorovich, what do you say? You have seen them in action before; would it be a performance worth listening to?'

Surely, Alex thought, Yassen would argue, insist that it was more prudent to do the killing now, but he merely gave a slight shrug, as though to say,  _you're the brains of this outfit, boss_.

'And of course, afterwards I will expect them dead,  _with no mistakes_ ,' Mrs Rothman said. Alex caught the implicit threat in her words. Did she think that Yassen was compromised? Because of him? Could he still hope for a little mercy from the Russian?

'Mrs Rothman!' Another of the men was protesting. 'Do you think that's wise, we should finish the job now – '

'Would you presume to know every precaution I take to ensure the success of an operation?' Mrs Rothman hissed at him. 'I assure you, this operation will not fail.'

And with that she moved to the door, pulled it open and swept out into the cold night air.


	17. Choice

'Now all we need to do is get the smell out,' Rob said savagely. 'Clara, are you all right? Clara!'

Clara shook her head wordlessly, eyes on the ground and blinking too much. Rob hurried to her side and folded her into her arms, murmuring comfort. Clara let herself be held for a few seconds and then pulled away slightly and reached out to Taylor, whose face was turning white. Josh sat against the wall, staring unseeingly forwards, one arm still tightly around Jane.

‘What the hell was that about?’ he said.

‘This is going to sound wild,’ Clara said, ‘but it seemed almost like she wanted to watch us fuck up playing, just like everyone at school. Alex especially, and Rob for teaching him.’

‘You know what, I reckon she actually would?’ Alex said.

‘I’m kind of disappointed that supervillains are so petty,’ Roberta said. ‘But for real, she just left us?’

‘Scorpia want me dead,’ Alex said slowly, talking through it as much for himself as for her. ‘They’d probably like to kill me very publically. Like on-stage publically. And they must have some point they want to prove, that they can make out like they’re letting us go, forewarn us, then somehow manage to kill us anyway.’

‘Some kind of show of strength, plus a punishment killing for you?’ Clara summed up.

‘That’s right,’ Alex said. ‘Don’t relax. I’m calling K Unit.’ He pulled out his phone and hit speed dial.

'Wolf!' he hissed into the phone.

'Cub? Oh thank God, are you –'

'We're bloody fine, no thanks to you,' Alex snarled. 'I suppose you've managed to locate us by now?'

'Yeah, we'll be with you in a minute.'

'I am  _so_  relieved.' Alex ended the call and stood awkwardly, not knowing what he should do. He felt he should rally the others somehow, comfort them, but once again he felt like an outsider. However Rob saw his face and came over.

'Oh my God, Alex, you were so brave!'

'But I didn't even do anything.'

'Yeah, but you're not panicking!'

'Neither are you.'

'Oh, you think?' Roberta's voice grew too rough and she gave a very shaky laugh. 'Believe me, I am, like, _shitting_ myself...' she took a deep breath, her eyes too bright. Alex saw how thin her mask of control was. Yes, she was panicking.

'That bitch was right about one thing, though,' Rob said. 'Teach me some karate.'

'Oh, you are going to regret that,’ Alex said, seizing on the suggestion with relief. ‘It's payback for all the guitar lessons now, my girl. You need to adopt a neutral posture, centre of gravity low, like this...' A small part of his mind screamed at the absurdity of starting up a karate lesson in a garage minutes after an assassination attempt, but really, what else was there to do? '...and you see now you can move in almost any way you want to –'

Then the garage door flew open and K Unit came sprinting into the room, fanning out across the doorway. Both Alex and Rob jumped and Clara stuffed her fist into her mouth to stop herself from screaming.

'Quit the theatrics, they're gone,' Alex said flatly. Wolf nodded in acknowledgement and hurried to Clara.

'Are you all right?' he demanded. 'Are any of you hurt?'

'No, we're fine,' Alex said. He quickly filled Wolf in on what had happened.

'We've got to take her to Liverpool Street,' Wolf said. He seemed out of his depth, completely shaken. 'Cub, you come with me and Clara. The rest of you, get these others home! On second thoughts, no, take them back to our place and watch out for them until we get back. Hurry!'

He pulled Clara by the arm out of the garage, half running with her to the car and pushing her into the front passenger seat. Alex jumped into the back and twisted round, taking in the pale, scared faces of his friends lined up outside. Then Wolf accelerated away, twisting out onto the road and leaving the others behind.

'Clara?' Alex asked hesitantly. She was leaning back in her seat with her fingers pressed to her temples. 'Are you OK?'

'I'm fine, Alex, really,' she said in a brittle voice. 'I –' He heard her starting to sob.

'It's OK, you'll be fine,' Wolf said awkwardly, eyes fixed resolutely on the road. Alex hesitated, then leaned forward and wrapped his arms round her neck from behind. She gripped his hand and cried quietly.

‘So what do you think,’ Alex asked Wolf once Clara had calmed a little.

'I can't understand why she would do that,' Wolf said. 'What makes her so sure? We’ll have you both miles away by tonight; how does she think she’s going to find you? It’s worrying, it’s really worrying.'

'Beats me too,' Alex muttered. 'See what I told you before? My missions always explode.' Wolf chuckled darkly.

They arrived at MI6 headquarters and took an elevator straight to the fifteenth floor. Clara squashed into a corner of the lift, biting her nails. Before they entered Blunt's office, Alex grabbed her hand. He didn't want any of them sucked into this poisonous room. He had a horrible feeling that if Clara once slid into his life she would never get out.

'Take a seat, please, Miss Foster,' Mrs Jones said, her voice all sweetness. 'You too, Alex.' Wolf stayed standing, hands clasped behind his back. 'Now, Alex, tell us what happened.'

Briefly Alex recounted how Yassen had caught them and what had occurred after that. Mrs Jones' face flickered briefly when she heard about how he'd been waiting in the Jeep, but she did not interrupt. Blunt remained utterly unreadable.

'You've got to get her out,' Alex concluded. 'That was too close. Send her to a safe house somewhere and send in a task force to catch Rothman while you can. This is stupid, it's gone far enough.'

Blunt looked through Alex. He might as well have not spoken. He addressed Clara instead.

'How are you feeling, Miss Foster?' he asked, sounding genuinely concerned. 'Are you experiencing any dizziness? Any nausea?'

Clara slowly raised her eyes to look at him.

'A little bit, yeah.'

‘That’s be expected. Most likely you are in shock. You have been through a terrible ordeal, terrible. I agree with Agent Rider; these people must be stopped.'

His behaviour didn't tally with what Alex had told Clara about Alan Blunt. She frowned, confused.

'To speak quite frankly I am shocked that Gregorovich got so close,’ Blunt went on. ‘It was a shocking miscalculation on the part of our agents –' Blunt paused to frown reprovingly at Wolf – 'and myself, obviously, as it was I who assigned them. I assure you though, that in a situation like this a four-man unit should have been sufficient. Look at the way the agents acted; they let you walk away. Hardly a serious threat to  _you_. I am quite embarrassed to have let them come so close to success. And now –' here he gave an incredulous little half laugh – 'they intend to come to your concert.'

Alex frowned. What was Blunt playing at? The man was lying through his teeth, that much was plain. Scorpia, not serious?

'Miss Foster, I believe there is really no need to remove you from the vicinity. If we take certain precausions, there will be no danger for you.'

'Mr Blunt –' Alex cut in.

'If they do go to your concert, they will be walking into a trap.'

'NO!' Alex said loudly. 'NO!'

'Julia Rothman, the woman you met, has been causing considerable trouble for the secret service for some time. Her organisation has contributed to many disasters, and many, many deaths, Miss Foster, of people sometimes only a little older than yourself.' Blunt glanced almost imperceptibly at Alex. 'If we could arrest her at this concert it would deal her organisation a considerable blow. It might even cause their ultimate collapse.' He paused, drew breath and then spoke once more. 'Miss Foster, I would be much obliged if you would continue as planned. It would provide an opportunity which might never come again. You must play in this concert.'

'You liar!' Alex yelled. 'She'll be killed and you know it.'

'Really, Alex, you do exaggerate. There will be no danger. Miss Foster?'

'Well, some of what you've said doesn't add up for a start,' Clara said slowly. She looked Blunt straight in the eye. 'If I'm so  _safe_ , how can these people be such a  _threat_?'

'What I was trying to convey, Miss Foster, is that they pose no threat  _to you_. We can have as many plain-clothed officers as necessary concealed in the crowd. Scorpia won't come near you. Mrs Rothman is a fool to even consider it.'

Clara stared at her hands, face troubled, thinking...

'Don't listen to him!' Alex told her. 'He's lying, he doesn't care, he's just using you as bait.' He looked back at the two spy masters. Blunt's charade was still unbroken, but Mrs Jones looked uncomfortable. Alex appealed to her now.

'Mrs Jones, this is insane.'

Mrs Jones was silent for a long time. 'Wolf, what do you think of Mr Blunt's proposal?' she asked finally.

'I think it could work,' Wolf said, in the most unconvincing tone Alex had ever heard. His voice was slow and heavy. 'I'm pretty sure we could conduct it with minimum risk.' He looked at Clara, his expression trapped. 'I think...I think the merits of capturing Rothman and Gregorovich outweigh the risks,' he said, speaking directly to her now. It sounded like an appeal.

Clara met his eyes, almost smiling. 'You really want these guys inside, don't you?' she said.

'Clara...' Alex muttered.

'Alex.' She managed a real smile. 'It's OK.' She turned to Blunt. 'I guess I'll do it.'

'Thank you.' Blunt smiled in a way that made Alex want to throw something. 'You will be rendering a great service to the British nation.'

'I'll go get the car,' Wolf gabbled as soon as they were outside, and practically bolted off down the corridor. Alex understood. He had felt the need to back his employers up in their deception, claiming that there was no danger, because for him the chance to catch two major players had to outweigh the safety of one person. Now he couldn't bear to look them in the face. Alex waited until he was out of earshot and then turned to Clara.

'You're insane,' he said. 'You've got to leave. I know these people, they'll stop at nothing.'

'Wolf and Mr Blunt didn't seem to think so.'

'They don't give a damn about you. Listen to me, Clara, Scorpia have been masterminding half the crime on this planet for more than thirty years. If they want to kill you at this concert tomorrow they will, and all the Wolfs in the SAS won't be able to stop them.'

'Look, Alex. I don't think your Mr Blunt was completely honest with me, but he can't just lie flat out to a civilian and send them into danger. There are laws against that, aren't there?' Alex almost wanted to laugh at her innocence. Of course Blunt could do just that. 'Anyway,' Clara went on, 'he was right about one thing.'

'What's that?'

'If there's a chance they can catch this Rothman woman once and for all...then it's the right thing to do. If they play their cards right the place will be crawling with soldiers and she and Yassen will never hurt anyone again. And besides –' she smiled – 'you'll be there, Alex. If half of what you've told me about your missions is true, I've got nothing to worry about.'

'So no pressure,' Alex muttered to himself. Clara might think she was prepared to face a little danger, but Alex was willing to bet that if she really understood what she was letting herself in for she would be running as hard as she could for the next bus out of town, screaming as she went.

The others were incredulous when they heard what had gone down in Blunt's office. Alex let Wolf spout his reassuring crap and promise them that it was perfectly safe for them to return home for the night, and then he barricaded them in Clara's bedroom and gave them his opinion.

'I would say we are all doomed,' he told them bluntly, 'but all the same I am so giving you self defence lessons. Never know, you might get to punch some bad guy in the face before he pumps you full of hot lead.'

'Seems to me all we do these days is sit in a small circle preparing for death,' Josh remarked, as unfazed as ever. Alex wondered privately whether Josh was entirely sane.

'Want me to find you a bright side?' Clara enquired.

'A  _bright side_?' Alex repeated. 'Sure, go ahead, surprise me.'

'It's just a song I wrote a while back which needs a little bit of polishing,' Clara explained, rummaging through a folder on her desk. 'We could dust it off and use it for an encore if we win. I think you'll agree the lyrics are rather appropriate.'

She handed him a sheaf of manuscript paper. Alex read the title; it was called 'You Broke my Heart.' As he read through the lyrics a slow smile spread across his face. He finished the paper and let out a whistle.

'You have some nerve, girl,' he muttered.

'Hey, they want to shoot me anyway?' Clara shrugged. 'What difference will one more poem make?'


	18. Explosive Performance

'The lights shouldn't show the boys,' Clara was telling the lighting crew, 'until the second chorus. Yeah. Thunderclaps there. OK, cool.' She moved aside and another band came forward to state their requirements. Alex was sitting on a chair at the side of the school hall. Strumming softly on his bass to try and keep his nerves down. He knew he must look the epitome of sensitive, tortured artistry, but right now he just didn't care.

Everything in his head was gone to nerves. Nerves about Yassen and Scorpia not cancelling out nerves about the concert, panic for his friends making his head spin, rage at Blunt...it was impossible.

 _Just win the competition. It might be the last thing you ever do_.

There was about an hour to go until the concert started. Contestants were beginning to trickle into the hall to warm up, and the air was filled with the clatter of chairs and music stands and incomprehensible music jargon.

'You got a spare two-and-a-half reed?'

'You're flat, push the mouth piece in.'

'Give me a chord of G-minor seventh.'

Alex looked up as Roberta came hurrying over. 'Just got here, frog,' she muttered. 'You feeling alright?'

'Huh.'

Rob shrugged off her guitar case and set it down against the wall. 'I swear it's twice as heavy as usual,' she complained. 'Wasn't by the door where I always leave it when I left home. Gave me quite a turn when I looked and it wasn't there. Left it somewhere else. I must be going insane.'

Alex hadn't understood half of what she was saying, but he welcomed the mindless chatter anyway. Wolf appeared from wherever he'd been lurking.

'Right,' he said, grabbing Clara as soon as she came over. 'As you know, you should be in no danger tonight, but just in case...' Alex listened with half an ear as he launched into a series of useless safety instructions. What could an untrained girl do that would throw Yassen off? He closed his eyes and thought of the lyrics of their encore song. Yes, they  _had_  to win. Some moments the thought of that little one-in-the-eye number was all that kept him sane.

*     *     *

'Mrs Rothman.'

'Yes, Mr Gregorovich?'

'I think this is a bad idea,' Yassen said without preamble. He looked Mrs Rothman up and down. She was decked out in evening wear like somebody's rich mother come along to loathe the music and cheer for her darling anyway. When would she learn that the Rider boy always escaped when she stopped to gloat? But it was too late now. All they could do was cut their losses, and flee while they had a chance.

'Yassen.' Mrs Rothman sounded amused. 'You are so very conscientious. But I have assurances that we shall be successful. The matter I asked you to arrange?'

'Done.'

'No-one will suspect so theatrical a method. I am confident it will work as planned. Clara Foster will die, along with the Rider brat and any child foolish enough to befriend him.'

'But what about our own escape?' Yassen said, very slowly and clearly. ‘We will be sitting in the middle of the concert hall.’

'Oh, you needn't worry about that,' she replied, a trace of laughter in her voice. 'I have planned something rather special to aid our exit, and afterwards no-one will dare to assail Scorpia again.' Her voice rose a little as she finished.

If Yassen was impressed, he did not show it, just raised one eyebrow very slightly and said:

'That is a weight off my mind, Mrs Rothman. Our three agents are waiting in the car. Shall I instruct them to bring it around?'

'Please do.'

Yassen bowed his head slightly and walked out of the room.

*     *     *

They were now sitting in a practise room backstage. The roar of conversation echoed from the hall, twisting Alex's stomach into an agonising ball of nerves. The others were with him, each engaged in some small task. Alex gazed at them all, remembering their faces. Clara. Taylor. Josh. Roberta. Jane. Jane hugging her violin to her chest to warm it, Rob applying mascara with her glossed mouth open. Josh, having succumbed to his nerves, doing press-ups in a way that made one's arms ache to watch him. On and on, no sign of flagging. They would all get sweaty enough under the stage lights anyway.

'Jane,' Rob said firmly, 'mascara.'

Jane set down her violin and took the wand numbly.

'Now I don't care about your reputation as classical violinist and student librarian of doom. Tonight you are a pop star. Got it?'

'Yeah, I'm...rockin' and rollin', baby.'

'You bet.' Rob pulled down Jane's ponytail and began to arrange her frizzy hair into sleek, biscuit-coloured curls which framed her face beautifully. Alex watched Rob through eyes dulled with panic. She was wearing tight black jeans and a shocking pink, off the shoulder top, and her pink-streaked hair was twisted up in a bun with bits floating out all over the place. Alex liked the style on her. It made her look more mature and at the same time less hunted, more carefree, than when her hair was loose down her back and shadowing her face. She looked like a modern warrior princess about to fight a duel.

Alex dipped his fingers into his pocket and found he didn't have a plectrum. There might be one in his bag in the green room – a room performers used to dress and prepare for shows. There were too many students performing to fit in it tonight, but they’d all been told they could leave their things safely there. Wordlessly he stood and left the room, hurrying down the corridor.

Sounds of instruments warming up came from the practise rooms he passed, and a few very sick-looking people were leaning against the walls in the corridor. Alex walked passed them all as fast as he could and turned into the green room. He quickly located his bag underneath a pile of stuff and rummaged through it for a guitar pick. He'd just located one, a triangle of tiger-striped translucent plastic, when he felt a presence behind him.

'Alex.'

'What do you want, Yassen?'

The Russian didn’t answer him. He was standing in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame. He was dressed plainly in a white shirt, black blazer and trousers. No tie though. Alex supposed that ties just provided too useful a handhold in a fight.

'Did you come to apologise in advance for killing my friend, Yassen?' he demanded. Still no answer. 'Because that's what she is, Yassen, my friend!' His voice rose to a shout. 'You never think about what you're doing, do you? You ruin lives; every single person around every target gets hurt. You stabbed Ash and then he joined Scorpia and came after me. You think you're protecting me for my Dad's sake but you're not, you...you have no idea...' Suddenly Alex found he was close to tears. Briefly an image flashed before his eyes. An image of himself, no spying, no pain, sitting among the others on a summer afternoon. Just being. But it could never be. He'd only met them because of MI6, only befriended Clara because she'd been marked for death. He'd never even known them during a summer. 'I thought you didn't kill children,' he said bitterly. 'Well, I'm not the only  _special_  teenager out there, Yassen.'

'I just came to look at you,' Yassen said, answering his earlier question.

Alex flung his arms wide, presenting himself to scrutiny. 'I  _still look like my father_!' he yelled. 'Happy?'

'Alex?'

Yassen half-turned in the doorway and Alex was able to see past him. Roberta was standing in the corridor, her guitar slung around her neck. She glanced at him and then turned to Yassen.

'If you have any sense of decency left,' she said quietly, 'leave now.'

Yassen met her black eyes, glaring out of that blaze of pink, then his gaze flickered down to the guitar. She had no idea...

'Good luck,' he said, inclining his head towards her.

'Get out.'

Yassen turned and walked off down the corridor, glancing back once as he went. Both children had their backs to him now; Roberta's arm was around Alex's shoulders as she led him back to their practise room. Yassen shook his head. Neither of them could really be counted as a child.

He had run out of time. If Alex performed on stage, because of what Julia Rothman had planned, he would die. He had less than an hour left to make up his mind. He should just drop this, forget Alex and continue down the path he'd chosen for himself. The only other option would be to walk willingly to his death. He had always known that his moment of weakness on Air Force One would catch up with him, and now it was almost upon him. He could feel its breath on the back of his neck, waiting...Alex or Scorpia?

*     *     *

'Alex and I have just had a close encounter of the third kind,' Rob said, steering Alex back into the practise room.

'Huh?'

'Bumped into Yassen. In a suit with another  _silk shirt_.'

'Très James Bond,' Clara remarked, but her voice was high and brittle. Her lips and eyes stood out blackly in her chalky-pale face.

'Why are we wasting time bitching about Yassen the Assassin when we could be tuning up?' Josh asked.

'Because we already tuned.'

'Oh yeah. That would be it.'

There was a brisk clicking of high heels in the corridor, and the music teacher entered.

‘Non-Conformists? You’ll be on second tonight, so I want you backstage and ready to take your places as soon as the first band has finished performing. Let’s keep everything very streamlined tonight, please. The curtain will be down while the bands change over. You'll hear me announce you, then wait till the curtain opens and start playing.' She seized Alex's arm in a vice-like grip and propelled him towards the door. 'Good luck.'

They heard her calling to the next band. ‘Alright, you’re on third tonight, so when the Non-Conformists go onstage, I want you to – ’

Alex looked towards the stage. A group of girls were just shuffling into position. Alex caught their eyes; they and the Non-Conformists flashed each other a tense smile. The music teacher walked back past them and bustled to the stage.

‘We would like to thank you all for coming this evening,’ she announced. ‘It’s lovely for our students to see such a wonderful turnout of friends and family. All the bands performing tonight have worked incredibly hard to deliver what I'm sure will be a really professional performance. Our first band tonight are a group of girls called _The Queen Mary_ …’

 _This is insane_ , Alex thought, as the curtain swept back and the first band were greeted with a roar of applause. _MI6 are trying to apprehend Scorpia assassins in the middle of a school!_

 _‘Oy, bruv!’ called a voice. Alex whirled round jumpily to see_ Jet and Jackson walking down the corridor.

'What the hell are you doing backstage?' Taylor demanded. Alex wondered if he was just stressed, or worried about seeing his brothers walk even further into the line of fire.

'Just came to wish you luck, bruv,’ Jet said. ‘You’re next up, aren't you?'

'Right after this lot,' Taylor confirmed, glancing towards the stage where the first band had just launched into Rhianna’s _SOS_. 'Now get out.'

'Oh come on, don't be like that.'

'I will if I want to, but thanks for the good wishes.'

'Yeah, seriously...just don't screw up, OK?'

'Thanks,' Taylor muttered dubiously as they sloped off.

'You'll be  _fine_ ,' Clara reassured him. 'Just fine.'

Taylor swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on the stage as the first band continued to play. It felt like no time at all until they had finished their last song, and then the music teacher was ducking around the curtain and gesticulating for them to come forward.

The Non-Conformists slipped from the wing and onto the stage. The roar of the crowd was muffled by the heavy velvet curtains, and the stage was so dark they had to feel their way.

'Quietly, quietly!' the music teacher hissed. Josh sat behind the drums, Clara stood at the keyboard. Rob stepped up to the mike, preparing to sing. For this number the girls were in front, the boys lurking in shadow until the second chorus. To Alex the stage felt like a quiet, soothing bolthole, all darkness and concealing curtains. What would happen when the curtain went up? Would all his playing knowledge desert him? Probably. Would they be shot the second they were revealed? Also probable. Would Roberta open her mouth and find herself unable to sing? No. That at least would never happen. In the hall the noise died away as the music teacher addressed the crowd again.

'And now, I’d like to welcome the Non-Conformists with a cover of _It's Raining Men_ by the Weather Girls. Let's hope they don't let us down.'

Clara's eyes flashed at the sly dig, but there was no more time. An eruption of cheering, and a crack of blinding light appeared in the curtains, which split wider and wider as they were opened. Alex couldn't make any of the audience out under the stage lights. Where were Scorpia? Where were the SAS, Alan Blunt and Mrs Jones? The crowds of students continued to shriek and applaud. Alex was wishing they would shut up now; there was a slightly sarcastic edge to the sound. Finally Rob said into the mike:

'Thank you.'

The sound died. A stray whoop, and then silence. This was it. Either they would deliver one passable performance before they all  _died_ , or Rob would just pass out on the spot. Well, not Rob, but one of them might. Even though he couldn't see anything past the stage lights, Alex thought he could feel Mrs Rothman's cruel eyes boring into him.  _This is where it ends, Rider,_ he heard her say in his mind _. You will fear. You will fail, here and now, in front of all those you once sought so foolishly to impress. And then you will die_.

And from deep inside him another voice replied.

 _Never_.

Vague thundery sounds began to come out of the speakers, and Clara played the introduction on the keyboard. A flurry of fast chords, and Rob started to sing.

Alex honestly didn't remember much about the first number, just that Rob sang out-of-this-world fantastically, in a deep growly alto, and nobody shot at them. It was an out of body experience really. But he came back to himself a little when Jane came forward and took Roberta's place at the microphone, because now they were doing one of their own original songs, and Jane was going to sing it.

Taylor began to play the opening riff. Essential rhythm guitar. Jane took a deep breath and began to sing, her voice wobbly with terror, but somehow adding to the effect.

' _I love you, but I gotta stay true..._ '

'Woo Jane!' one of her friends yelled in the front row, and there was an outbreak of laughter.

' _My morals got me on my knees,_ _  
_‘I beg you please, stop playing games__!'

It occurred to Akex that the chorus (' _you got me begging you for Mercy_ ') could be construed by Yassen and Mrs Rothman as a plea for mercy. He then considered that it was odd of him to care. Next second, however, he played a very conspicuous wrong note, and forced his mind back onto the music.

Jane thought at first that she might faint, but her voice was growing stronger. She hit the middle eight, the always-minimal accompaniment peeling away to leave her nothing but the drums and Clara’s backing vocals softly in the background. But what more did one need. The chords might go awry but Josh would never fail to give her a good solid beat.

' _I'm begging you for mercy, yes why won't you release me? You got me begging, you got me begging, you got me begging..._ '

She ramped up the volume, hitting those high notes with everything in her. _Your voice is like a violin_ , she thought.  _Just a violin. Touch those notes and let them vibrate_. Then she realised that people in the audience were clapping along. The tone of Josh's drumming seemed to congratulate her. She brought the song to a close. The tone of the applause sounded impressed this time. Nobody had heard her sing in this style before. She stepped back from the microphone, and Taylor took her place.

Alex and Clara shared a glance as Taylor pulled the mic up from Jane’s height to his. He stood a little awkwardly, shoulders hunched over to tone down the tall frame he still hadn’t fully grown into. Alex could read the worry in Clara’s eyes. He remembered what she and Taylor had told him about the rumours of him singing and how he’d never been able to live them down. If it hadn’t been for the guns in the audience, this would be the most anxiety-inducing moment of the night. But suddenly Taylor turned and smiled at me, his face sweet and carefree, saying as clearly as speaking,

' _Chill out, guys. Do you really think I'm going to mess up?'_

This number was in safe hands.

' _Is this more than you bargained for?_ ' Taylor began to sing _Sugar, We’re Going Down_ by Fall Out Boy. Alex had never heard a singer so relaxed. The notes seemed to float out of his mouth with no effort on his part, every one sweet and clear and true. For a moment his terror melted away, leaving only the music. He felt like he could have listened to him forever.

Taylor sucked in a deep breath, ramping up the volume for the chorus.

 _'We're going down, down in an earlier round,_  
and sugar, we're going down swinging!  
I'll be your number one with a bullet,  
A loaded God-complex, cock it and pull it.'

The perfect song for a last night on earth.

*     *     *

Yassen was suitably impressed. The boy was not just a singer but a born performer, moving easily with the music as he sang, pulling the audience in. He began the second verse, gazing dreamily into the distance, playing it up. No-one was clapping along, but Yassen could tell they were drinking in the music. Alex and Josh (the creator of that infernal mural) were singing backing vocals, and Yassen would have expected himself to be more interested in the former, but Taylor's performance was very engaging.

Drums and backing faded back to just Roberta, whacking out a chord per bar, and Taylor (it looked like improvisation to Yassen) held the mike away to the side, at arm's length, and sang unamplified:

 _'We're going down, down in an earlier round..._ '

His voice rocketed to the farthest corners of the hall, loud and clear. He took the microphone back to sing an ornamented version of the chorus with Alex, who maybe wasn't up to that kind of vocal projection, then struck a pose with two fingers pistol-like in the air and the microphone held away:

 _'A loaded God-complex, cock it and pull it_!'

The audience erupted into applause at the feat as the band played the final chorus. Taylor had got them completely on-side with his uninhibited performance, and finished the song in a tumult of clapping. Yassen caught sight of the shadowy forms of Clara and Alex coming forward to embrace him as the curtain swung closed again and the teacher who had been presiding over the concert stepped back onto our stage.

‘Well, wasn’t that wonderful,’ she said. ‘In a moment the Non-Conformists will play the last number before the interval, but first I’d like to ask you to keep the fire doors clear as you gather in the canteen, where drinks and raffle tickets will be on sale…’

Yassen tuned the woman out, taking the opportunity to glance around the hall. He was thinking fast. He only had until the end of the band’s set if he wanted to save Alex. And that he must do. Had he been certain for so long, put himself to so much trouble, just to fail the boy now? But it was more than that. Somehow the mission no longer felt right. To Yassen, who had lived out most of his life with no sense of right and wrong, this was unsettling, but it was so. Was it Alex’s angry words that had decided him? The boy Taylor’s performance? No matter. He turned to Mrs Rothman, and then over her shoulder caught sight of the young SAS soldier who had been in charge of Clara's protection. He was just within hearing distance. Maybe there was a chance to make this right for both him and Alex after all.

'I set the fuse in the guitar for G-minor seventh,' he said, loudly and clearly. 'Do you suppose that will be alright?'

*     *     *

Alex and the others were seizing advantage of the music teacher’s announcement to swig some coca-cola in the stage wings when Wolf came charging up to them.

'There's a bomb in the guitar!' he yelled. ‘That's how they're doing it! It's set to go off when...when...'

'When what?' Roberta demanded. 'Which guitar?'

'I don't know, Gregorovich didn't say.'

'Well it hasn't gone off yet, what sets it off, how's the fuse activated?'

'I don't know, he had some kind of code...'

'What code?'

'Some letter-number combination, I forget exactly what –'

'You didn't  _remember_  it?' Roberta said thunderously, leaping to her feet.

'I didn't think it would mean anything to you!'

'For God's sake! It was the name of a chord, notes have letter names, I thought any idiot would know that!' Roberta raged, seizing Alex's bass. 'Obviously he said the name of the chord which sets off the bomb! It can't be one we've used yet, it’s gotta be something uncommon…' She began to strum the instrument softly, leaning her head down to the soundbox.

'What are you doing?' Wolf asked.

'Well obviously a guitar that's got a dirty great bomb in it is going to sound different, isn't it? The strings that are rigged to the fuse will sound a bit off, and there should be some way of playing that will short-circuit the whole thing...I've just got to find out  _which_  guitar it's actually in...'

At that moment a fresh burst of applause signalled that the music teacher had finished her announcement. It was time for their final song.

 _‘Shit_!' Rob screeched. 'Well, we can't go on.'

'If they find out we know what they're planning it'll wind up in a gun-battle backstage,' Wolf argued.

'Not to mention the amount of explaining we'll have to do to the school if we suddenly refuse to perform,' Alex added.

'Right.' Rob stood perfectly still for a moment, then thrust Alex's bass at him and grabbed her own guitar. 'We'll have to play then. Use alternate fingerings for everything, Alex, Josh, Taylor; Clara stand on the opposite side of the stage to us; and guys, keep passing the guitars between us as we play. Make it look like part of the act. I'll take a listen to each of them as it comes to me and try to figure out which one is hot.'

'Rob –'

'Move it!'

'Rob, I don't think I can do that,' Alex said wildly.

'Yes you can, I've taught you every chord in the book. Just sing as well as you can and for the love of God, don't accidentally play anything we rehearsed. I don't care how badly you screw up, just don't cause any explosions.'

'Thanks a lot.'

'Come on, guys, let's roll!' Clara shouted.

The walk onto the stage felt like something out of a waking dream. Applause clattered in the air like stones over a precipice. The stage lights cut the world into monochrome sections of splintered motion. Alex felt his heart speeding up in his chest, his body starting to shake, his knees weakening as he faced the audience. Stage-fright.

'Just remember, zone out, rhythm,' he heard Josh say to Jane behind him. Of course. Jane was drumming for this one. There was a ripple of sound in the crowd as she sat down behind the drum kit, neatly arranging her legs. Rob stood by his side, her head bent, pink and black hair falling like a waterfall over her face, down to where her white hands lay curled on the strings of her guitar. Yassen was watching her too. If anyone could work their way out of the trap he had set, it would be this strong, brittle girl with her remarkable musical prowess.

'Really, Mr Gregorovich, your musical knowledge astounds me at times,' Mrs Rothman remarked. So maybe she was on to his dropping the hint to the SAS soldier. Maybe she also knew about his violin. It wasn't a subject Yassen was prepared to discuss.

Roberta began to play a thin, plaintive intro, and then the drums came pounding in. The focussed fierceness of a violinist and the broad, heavy aggression of the drummer both got results, it seemed. He felt a certain affinity with Jane, because they shared an instrument, and he watched her playing style carefully. You could definitely see the violinist in her as she played the drums with a sharp precision that was quite different from the way Josh belaboured his kit.

Up on the stage Alex focussed his eyes in on the wire mesh covering the head of the microphone, inches from his nose. He was having to consciously think of every chord he played, using the alternative, and more complicated, fingerings for each one. Oh crap, that was his entry! He began to sing on what little air he could draw in, blessing whatever God was up there for the microphone amplifying his words. Rob's twisted lyrics perfectly encompassed his feelings. As he began the first chorus a group of kids at the front started to clap along. Slowly the sound spread. Roberta played a web of eerie chords to lead them into the next verse, then slung her guitar to Josh. Alex half-threw his bass at her and wound up with Taylor's guitar in his hands.

 _He didn't know how to play rhythm guitar_!

Hastily he improvised, stamping the pedal to bring on some kind of special effect so that it didn't matter what chords he played. Behind him Taylor was doing the best he could with Roberta's magnificent electric guitar. At least he was playing the same instrument. Roberta had switched seamlessly from lead guitar to bass. _Wow_ , Alex thought, _she really is a musical genius_. He plucked a few strings randomly and then headbanged into the second verse, mainly to annoy Yassen, who's scene, he guessed, this was not. He felt like a right idiot, standing there tossing guitars randomly around, but the audience were loving it. Roberta was putting in a few moves behind him to make it look like a worked-out routine. Jane tapped out a soft, frantic rhythm on the cymbals.

Another chorus, another swap. Alex found himself holding Roberta's guitar. He held it as though it were made of glass, terrified of damaging it.  _Get your priorities straight, for goodness' sake_ , he scolded himself. There was something about this instrument. It was beautiful; it felt wonderful to play, even if he barely knew how. Alex hefted it up in his arms. It was _heavy_.  _Think chord patterns. One, two, three, four_. He could do this. His wrist protested as he twisted it into ever more awkward positions, and playing felt like running over breaking ice, about to go pear-shaped any second, but he was holding up. Somehow they were still alive, still playing, still performing, and no-one's nerve had broken. Roberta's black brows were twisted in a scowl as she played, listening, listening...he shoved her guitar back at her on the beat and sang for all he was worth:

' _What's that coming over the hill, is it a Monster? Is it a Monster?_ '

It was brilliant, a rock-out.  _Roberta wrote this,_ he thought dazedly, _she wrote this music, and Clara got us together to play it, and we're doing it, we're doing it...as long as we don't all get blown up next second –_

'Alex!'

He twisted on stage, snatching the mike with him at the last second, leaning down into it, his feet finding a rhythm on the dusty stage. Roberta was jumping up and down, screaming his name, though she was almost inaudible above the music.

'I got it I got it!,' she shrieked. 'G-minor-seventh!' And before he could stop her she rocked into her guitar solo, her long fingers splayed half way across the fret board as she played. She vibrated her hands across the strings, drawing a whirring shriek from her instrument, and then her face twisted in savage triumph as she struck down with her thumb. A shower of white sparks spurted out of the guitar, smattering the floor harmlessly and lighting up her face. The detonator. The bomb was gone. Alex laughed out loud, completely crazy, and screamed into the last chorus, the rest of the band shouting the harmonies with him. Rob whacked out the last chord and dropped to one knee, bent and panting, raising her guitar triumphantly into the air. The crowd leapt to its feet, screaming and applauding. Alex pulled Roberta upright and hugged her, his chin resting on her bare shoulder. Bits of their guitars stabbed into him. It was too hot to breathe. Slowly he turned, one arm still across Rob's shoulders, and looked out into the hall. Clara stepped up beside him as the lights dimmed a little, allowing him to see over the audience.

'You did it, Alex,' Clara whispered.

What he saw was Mrs Rothman, pointing a pistol at his face.


	19. Panic at the Disco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs for this chapter: 
> 
> _It's Raining Men_ by The Weather Girls  
>  _Mercy_ by Duffy  
>  _Sugar, We're Going Down_ by Fall Out Boy  
>  _Monster_ by The Automatic   
> _You Broke My Heart_ by Love Bites

The first Yassen knew of events was when Mrs Rothman pulled the gun from his belt and aimed it. So she'd never expected him to shoot Alex. She hadn’t even given him the chance to try. The boy looked out with clear, unfazed eyes at the levelled weapon, his arm still around that extraordinary friend of his.

Nobody in the front rows had even noticed the woman standing up with a loaded gun, but Yassen could feel the panic beginning to emanate from the people around and behind them before they had even begun to physically react.

'And now, Alex Rider, Clara Foster...and the rest of you...prepare to die,' Mrs Rothman said in a quiet, level voice which nonetheless carried over the applauding crowd.

'Fuck you, Julia Rothman!' Roberta screamed wildly, standing directly centre stage. 'Fuck you! We won and you know it! We beat you at your own stupid fucking twisted game, and just because you can pull out a bigger and better gun and say: "I'm not playing, I beat you all," doesn't mean we've  _lost_. Alex, my man, _you can fucking well play guitar_!'

Yassen snapped into combat stance. SAS men with guns were appearing all around the perimeter of the room, fencing them in.  _I told her_ , he thought.  _I told her_. There was no exit for them. His sole thought now was how he could save Alex. If he jumped Mrs Rothman one of the other agents would put a hole in his spine and gun down the children before he could turn around. Could he shoot them all fast enough? Mrs Rothman first, and the others before they could react? At this inconvenient juncture reluctance kicked in. Something in him rebelled against the idea of committing four cold-blooded murders. Now, where had that come from? Was it because these men were his colleagues? Or because protecting the children was an act which would definitely be classed as 'good,' and murdering to do so seemed worse by comparison? Yassen wished he could be a creature with no feeling, wished he were stronger, faster, so that he could take control of this situation and still get out alive, but he wasn't. He was Yassen. He was human. And his mind was beginning to break.

Someone screamed. Someone else began to thrash through the crowd, trying to escape, but Clara Foster said:

'Wait.'

Her voice was soft and clear.

'You said you wanted to hear our set,' she called across the hall. The SAS soldiers and Yassen's own agents were silent, watching her. 'You said it would be a shame to leave a hole in the programme. We had prepared – in the event of our winning – an encore.'

Someone somewhere gave a thin, valiant cheer. Most people were standing sideways now, their attention divided between the guns and the stage. An odd calm prevailed. Clara glanced around and, seeing no impediment, continued. 'This number is called _You Broke my Heart_. We would like to dedicate it to anyone who has ever tried to send us up, tear us down, or shoot us.' She looked Yassen straight in the eye. 'You know who you are.'

She moved forward and gripped the mike, her face very pale, eyes far away and glazed. Even in their terrified state, the audience's attention was captured by this. The school boffin, about to sing.

Josh tapped the rim of his snare drum four times.

' _Yeah right, yeah right, yeah right, yeah right!_ ' Clara roared into the microphone. As Roberta began to play a growling intro – she was indefatigable, that girl – Clara flung off her dark jacket to reveal a tightly enveloping blaze of gold sequins underneath. Someone in the lighting box thought to brighten the spotlights, sending dazzling flashes sparkling off her.

' _I used to sit by you at school, I used to think you were so cool,'_  Clara sang, pulling the microphone off its stand to hold it in her hand. Roberta and Jane stood either side of Clara, ready to harmonise.

' _Well you broke my heart._ ' Each of them flung a fist forward. ' _So I broke your nose! And I'm not sorry that I got blood on your cloths! Well you broke my heart, so I dyed your eyebrows blue, and I'm not sorry that your mates all laugh at you...YEAH THEY DO!'_

It had never been harder to remain impassive, but Yassen did it. That girl...make that  _those children_. Their nerve was astounding. Was it Alex rubbing off on them, or them rubbing off on Alex? Yassen sat frozen to his chair as they delivered a completely uninhibited performance straight to him, every lyric shouted with the confidence that comes when one is facing death.  _This is what you get,_  Yassen thought, more amused than anything else,  _this is what you get when you mess with a group of adolescent artists...what do you know about that breed? That they laugh in the face of death, plainly. That mural should have been a warning to you to escape while you had the chance._  Clara finished the song up with a resounding: ' _yeah right!_ ' knocking the microphone stand clear across the stage in her role as enraged girlfriend. The audience leapt to their feet as one. Everybody was screaming, everyone applauding. Then they turned towards Mrs Rothman. The ones who had seats near the front began to clamber onto the stage, forming a protective wall in front of the band. It looked like Alex wasn't the one who was going to need worrying about after all. Instead, Yassen was looking at being lynched by an angry mob. That wasn't the end he'd envisaged.

'Oh, the people who tried to send us up and tear us down,' said Clara, who seemed to never shut up, 'I take it back. The people who tried to shoot us, I reiterate it.'

'Hit the ground!' the lead SAS soldier cried, and fired straight at Julia Rothman. But as he pulled the trigger something – someone – dashed in front of Yassen, so close that the wind of its passage stirred his hair, and flung her to the ground. The bullet went over her head and thudded into the back of a plastic chair. The audience shrieked. Before Yassen could see who this saviour was the figure had sprung out of his line of sight. He whipped around in time to see an SAS soldier crumple to the floor, and a humanoid figure streaking past him...

 _We will succeed_ , Julia Rothman had promised. For the first time in years, Yassen felt the stirrings of true fear. What  _was_  this?

In front of him one of the Scorpia agents turned his gun on the crowd. There were screams and shoves. Most people were now trapped between Scorpia and the SAS and the stage, numerous guns blocking their path to the exits. Next second Alex took a flying leap off the stage and landed in front of one of the Scorpia agents, kicking him squarely in the teeth.  _Why_  did that boy always have to go diving  _in_ to trouble? Clara and Jane hauled the stage door open and began to scream:

'Through this way! Backstage!'

People began to clamber onto the stage and push through the door, and the crush in the hall thinned. Yassen's heart stopped for a moment as Alex was knocked sprawling by the Scorpia man he was taking on. The boy rolled, dodging the man's next kick. There was a resounding crash as Josh blocked a bullet with a cymbal held to his face, half-crouching, his head twisted away. Then he stood, a clear-cut target on the edge of the stage – Yassen could have dropped him without pausing to aim – and weighed the cymbal in his hand like a discus before hurling it at the head of the man attacking Alex. The agent fell, blood oozing out of the side of his scalp, and didn't get up again.

*     *     *

Everything was chaos. People shooting, others screaming, noise everywhere. Briefly Clara damned Alan Blunt to the deepest circle of hell, with his 'no danger', but she couldn't shake the feeling of guilt, because she’d never factored in the danger performing might pose to the audience. The best she could do to make up for it was to continue holding the stage door open and guiding people through. At that moment there was another gunshot, and this time someone was hit. A girl in the thick of the crowd went down, clutching her arm.

'Clara!' Jane screamed, standing on the other side of the door. Alex, looking up from the Scorpia agent Josh had just felled, noticed that there was blood in her hair, illuminated by the bright stage lights. How had that got there? He dashed towards the stage, then saw Clara jumping down into the audience, running for the girl who’d just been shot. He swerved, trying to push through the crowd as they battered him and almost trampled Clara and the shot girl beneath their feet. God damn it, Clara was the target! Didn’t she know to run?

Everything was going to hell. One minute Yassen, Mrs Rothman and their three agents had been safely surrounded, and the next Mrs Rothman had been pushed out of the line of fire and an SAS man taken out, so quickly that in the dim light he hadn’t been able to make out how it had happened.

‘Help!’ the shot girl was sobbing. Clara didn’t have the strength to lift her.

'Clara!' Josh appeared in front of them, hulking as a mountain. Swift and unhurried he lifted the girl and balanced her over his shoulder. 'Try and hold her arm closed,' he told Clara. 'It's time we went.' Muscles bunched in his scarred arms as he adjusted the girl and began to jog for the exit. Alex shouldered his way to their side and he and Clara helped balance the girl’s weight as Josh clambered onto the stage. The three of them let the crowd sweep them towards the exit.

A man appeared in front of them. Alex couldn't make out his face against the light, but he could see every strand and curl of his tousled hair. His hand scythed up, faster than blinking. There was a sickening crunch as he made contact with Clara’s breastbone, flinging her backwards, helplessly, off the stage. She hit the floor and slid six feet into the wall.

Clara lay still, stunned, winded. The man who had hit her leapt off the stage, high into the air, almost in slow motion, and disappeared from Alex’s line of sight. He saw another Scorpia agent dashing towards Clara, levelling his gun.

Alex was soaked in sweat. His heart was pounding. With a cry he leapt back off the stage and threw himself on the man, knocking his gun away. He sprinted to Clara's side and grabbed her arms.

'Get up!' he snarled. She was stiff as a corpse. 'Get up!'

She sucked in a gasping breath and stood, staggering against him. Alex seized her round the shoulders, supporting her, and stared around the room. The SAS had formed a line in front of him, guns raised and trained in the same direction. In front of the main doors Alex saw Yassen, two Scorpia agents and Julia Rothman. The agents had their hands up. More than half the audience were out of the hall, and those who remained had made it out of the line of fire. Scorpia had almost reached the exit, but they couldn’t move with all the guns on them. The situation had finally been brought under control.

Alex clutched Clara, trying to make her hide her face in his chest so that she wouldn't have to witness the shooting that was about to take place, but she fought him, half-sobbing, staring transfixed at the standoff. Alex realised that Yassen was about to be shot. How did that make him feel? The last link to his father, gone?

Why weren't the SAS opening fire?

Then Yassen dragged Taylor into the light.

The world seemed to stop. There was a roaring in Alex's ears. Yassen cocked his gun against Taylor's head, staring blankly ahead.

'Lower your weapons,' Julia Rothman ordered silkily.

Alex had loosened his hold on Clara. They stood transfixed, arms wrapped around each other. Now Clara spoke in a low, thick voice, addressing Yassen directly:

'Look, I'm begging you. Don't shoot him.'

Taylor's eyes were glazed, his chest rising and falling rapidly with fear. Yassen jerked his head at the other Scorpia men, who moved behind him and began to back towards the exit. Yassen followed them, dragging Taylor with him, his eyes locked on the SAS troops. Frozen in the doorway, his fellows all outside and retreating, he paused. His hand tightened on the gun until his knuckles were clearly outlined through the taught white skin. Then he twisted his arm and hurled Taylor with all his strength into the line of soldiers, sent several shots into the ground at their feet, leaving them in disorder, and fled. Alex bolted through the ducking soldiers and leaned out of the doorway. Yassen was sprinting across the car park, moving as easily as though strolling but eating up the distance in a matter of seconds. At the end of the drive a black car was already moving. Yassen leapt into the back and an instant later it was lost to his sight.

Suddenly exhausted, he turned and headed slowly back into the hall. SAS soldiers were running for their Jeeps to give chase, but Alex didn't give much for their chances. Taylor was kneeling on the floor, shaken but very much alive, while Clara sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder. A medic tapped Taylor on the arm and he winced. Alex glared at the scene, rage spurting inside him, leaving him breathless.

Somehow he would make Blunt regret what he had done tonight.


	20. Superhuman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This next part of the story is also inspired by the _Uglies_ series by Scott Westerfeld.

He was in trouble. As Yassen walked down the hall towards the study where he had first been given this ridiculous assignment, he reflected that he would quite probably be shot upon entering. That would be what he would do, if he were Julia Rothman. But more likely she would want to play with him first. That was what this whole mission had been: a chance for her to play with Ash, then with him when Alex Rider had appeared on the case, and then with Foster and her friends. Sadism got you nowhere, but that wasn't going to save Yassen.

He knocked on the door and went in without waiting for permission. Julia Rothman was sitting behind the glass-topped table, a silver pen in her hand and a glass of Perrier at her elbow. Her hair and eyebrows had been newly styled, not a strand breaking ranks. Dark glossy curls framed her perfectly powdered face; her mouth was a gleaming Cupid's bow. Yassen could almost have laughed. The students at the concert had all been wearing enough makeup – Roberta the guitarist had been covered in it – but their faces still looked expressively real. Mrs Rothman might as well have been at one of her Venetian balls, hidden behind a plumed mask.

'Where is Doctor Three?' he asked brusquely, sitting down.

'That is none of your concern,' she said, softly, sweetly. 'Mr Gregorovich, I am not pleased. The concert was a disaster. We barely escaped.'

'Due to my timely action,' Yassen said flatly. 'You know my views on the method we attempted. I failed to shoot the target because I was instructed by you to wait for the... _guitar bomb_...to do its work. And then you took my gun.'

And she had taken the gun because she had known he was not going to shoot Alex, and had determined to do it herself. It no longer mattered whose fault the botched assassination was. He had failed to kill twice in one night: once when he had sworn to himself to protect Alex, and again when he had spared Taylor's life for no better reason than that he was Alex's friend, and could sing, and because Clara Foster had asked him to. What would Mrs Rothman do now? If she moved to draw a gun, he fancied he could leap across the table and strike her dead before she fired. But maybe there was something else? A hidden button? Concealed gunmen?

Mrs Rothman was gazing sorrowfully at him. It was a false, studied expression and Yassen surprised himself with a sudden urge to knock it off her face.

'You may go, Mr Gregorovich,' she said. 'I must put a call through to the executive board. They will want to have an explanation for this.' Suddenly her voice had changed, becoming softer and less assured. She was playing the stricken, frightened woman now, her eyes cast down as she reached for the phone. Yassen rose and in a blasé gesture turned his back. He could hear that the phone had not been picked up. He felt her eyes on his back, hard as nails, as he made his way out of the room.

Mrs Rothman waited with one hand hovering over the phone until the door had swung shut. Then she removed it slowly and turned her head to the left. The shadows between two bookcases were moving, resolving themselves into a dark, humanoid shape, which stepped forward into the light. Ash gave a slight twitch of his head to get his hair out of his eyes, which were flickering towards the door. He must have remained inhumanly still to stay concealed practically under Yassen's nose. But, Mrs Rothman reflected with satisfaction, he was barely human any more.

'Ash,' she said softly, 'I believe that Mr Gregorovich has outlasted his usefulness. It seems you will have your way after all.'

Ash glided across the room and out of the door, his feet making no sound on the polished floorboards of the hall. Once he was out of her line of sight it was as though there was nobody there at all, he moved so quietly. Mrs Rothman felt quiet triumph. She had created the ultimate weapon. Never again would anybody be able to challenge Scorpia; not the SAS, not MI6 or the CIA, and certainly not that brat Alex Rider.

*     *     *

Yassen froze. The slightest scrape of foot against floor had alerted him to the presence behind him, but even as he whirled, he was confused. The corridor was a long one: how could anyone have got this close to him without him having heard them before? Then he saw the face of his pursuer, and his insides turned to ice water.

It was Ash, and yet not Ash. His skin was paler than usual, his face clean-shaven, and his dark eyes had a metallic glint and slanted like a wolf's. But the most striking differences were in his body. He had an alert, predatory stance, and Yassen fancied that one twitch of his muscles would be enough to send him flying forward. He seemed somehow taller, straighter, and suddenly Yassen realised what else had changed. The man he had known had been slightly hunched, doubled over by the constant pain in his belly. That pain had gone now, it was obvious. Ash was a new man.

What the hell had they done to him?

'Gregorovich,' Ash said. The sound of a human voice issuing from the predatory figure gave Yassen gooseflesh, but out of habit he kept his face impassive.

'Ash,' he replied evenly.

'I doubt you were expecting me, were you? You thought I'd be dead.' Yassen did not reply, but Ash seemed perfectly content to continue this conversation one-sidedly. Underneath this new, inexplicable exterior he was still the same man, hungry for vengeance at the cost of all else, and this steadied Yassen a little, even as it brought the knowledge of what Ash was here for now. To kill him.

'Well, in truth I very nearly was. But there'll always be use for human lives, Gregorovich. Rothman didn't care whether I lived or died, so she made me the subject of a little experiment.' Ash held out a hand, flexing the fingers subtly. In the half-light they looked like claws. 'The plastic surgery is just the tip of the iceberg. For dramatic effect, really. They've given me faster reactions. A nearly unbreakable set of bones. Speed and strength to let me outclass the best soldier in the world. Heightened senses. I can smell your fear, Gregorovich. I can see past that clumsy facade of coolness you're keeping up.'

Yassen let him carry on talking, planning his next move. The man might have all the advantages he claimed. He might have a battalion of new skills that Yassen hadn’t even guessed at yet. But he was still an arrogant fool like all the rest of them...

'But the real beauty,' Ash continued, 'is what they’ve done to my mind. The rest is really just enhanced surgery, but this is something else. They make you...icy, I like to call it. You have the ability to be objective, think analytically, solve problems...without all those pesky emotions getting in the way.' Ash grinned broadly, revealing slight but definite fangs. Yassen felt the bolting instinct rising almost irrepressibly inside him, but fought it down; Ash would be on him like a cat on a mouse.

'Of course,' Ash hissed, 'I owe you for the research. You were what might be called the prototype...'

'What?' The word slipped out before he could stop it. Ash smiled and leaned forward.

'Ever felt icy, Gregorovich?'

Out of nowhere his foot lashed up, catching Yassen full in the chest and knocking him backwards. He hit a door hard, his head whiplashing backwards into the wood. His flailing hand caught and turned the handle and the door flew open. He skidded into the room beyond, slamming the door closed in Ash's face.

Panting for breath, he scrambled up, ramming the bolt on the door home, and looked around the room. There were several exits, but which one should he take? As he pondered a fist slammed into the door, buckling the wood inwards. No time. Yassen sprang for the nearest door like a startled deer and sprinted through, a plan already forming in his mind. Whatever his enhancements, he doubted that Ash would be able to run as fast as a car, but to get outside under his own steam, find his car, start it and get up speed would take too long. Much closer was the armoury of the building, where he knew prototypes of a new stealth vehicle were being stored. Prototypes he was adept at handling, because he had helped to test them himself. Hoverboards.

He burst into a long, low room and stopped, trying to catch his breath. The hoverboards, three of them, were upright against the wall. He pulled one out of its rack and balanced it on the windowsill. It was like an elongated skate-board with lifter fans, like the rotor blades on a helicopter, instead of wheels. He planted a foot on the grippy rubber surface of the board, and at once its lifter fans began to turn. Yassen tensed, preparing to throw himself and the board out of the window...

There was an ear-splitting crash. As Yassen spun round the door came flying clean off its hinges, revealing Ash crouched in the doorway like some monstrous beast of prey. Yassen leapt wildly, flinging himself out into the night, and as he did so he realised that he had made a simple miscalculation. Hoverboarding was all about strength and reflexes, and Ash now outstripped him in both. Seconds later the tell-tale scream of lifter fans hit his ears. He drove his board hard to the left so that Ash hurtled past him, flying faster than he himself would have dared to do. Yassen pelted towards a line of trees, heading instinctively for cover as Ash brought his board round and shot after him again. A low-hanging branch whipped over his head. Trees were coming more frequently around him, thickening into a patch of forest. He whipped to the side to avoid one, almost grazing the trunk, and realised another mistake. Out in the open Ash could only travel as fast as his board, but in here his heightened reflexes were allowing him to steer between the trees much faster than Yassen, cutting the distance between them every second. Branches whipped out at him from all sides, forcing him to dodge and duck constantly. His legs were screaming with the effort of steering the board. He heard a whine and dropped blind as Ash shot straight at him, nearly knocking him off his board. Now they were flying parallel, Ash five feet overhead, his lifter fans creating a wind that stirred Yassen's hair. Yassen spotted a gap in some branches and dived through it. Ash missed him once again, but Yassen heard his fans shriek as he made a hairpin turn to follow Yassen down to the forest floor.

Steering as smoothly as he could to keep his board quiet, Yassen wove between the trees, a few feet off the ground. He spotted a patch of thick undergrowth and steered into it, crouching and powering down the board. The lifter fans slowed and were silent.

Yassen remained utterly still. The wood was quiet. A few leaves rustled here and there; other than that, nothing. He breathed slowly in and out, focussing on making the air flow silently. And then he saw something that made his breath still altogether.

Ash was edging his board between the trees. The low electric hum filled Yassen's ears. Twice the dark, wolfen eyes swept over his hiding place, but he was fully concealed by the undergrowth. Even Ash couldn't see through solid wood. The man leapt off his hoverboard, feet slamming into the leaf litter with a force that betrayed his impatience, and looked around again. He crouched, pressing a hand to the ground, and closed his eyes, listening. Yassen did not stir.

A long breeze ruffled the leaves around him and Ash's nostrils flared, scenting the oncoming wind. Slowly his eyes slid open, and the corner of his mouth pulled up in a half-grin. Then his eyes fixed straight on Yassen.

Yassen plunged backwards and onto his board as Ash sprang at him again, a growl bursting in his throat. Ash could smell him! He had to get out of the forest; here, Ash had all the advantages. He crouched to make himself as streamlined as possible and sped forward, leaving the forest behind him. Up ahead he could hear the swishing of cars. He broke through a belt of trees and then the blaring sound of a horn enveloped him as he plunged straight in front of a juggernaut. He had come out in the middle of the motorway. He swerved round and began to follow the road, as Ash emerged and pulled up short, doing a full loop-the-loop to avoid crashing headlong into the juggernaut. Yassen pelted along, taking advantage of the unobstructed road ahead to make full use of the speed of his hoverboard. There weren't many drivers out this late at night, but Yassen had no idea what the few they did pass would make of his vehicle. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw that Ash was dropping back. Yassen had picked a slightly newer design and his board had the edge when it came to speed. The junction into town was coming up and he took it. Out in the forest he had been prey to Ash's senses, but in the town a left and a right might lose him amongst the tangled streets.

Town came up surprisingly quickly. He took a left turn past a bus stop and suddenly he was flying up the main street, shop windows glinting blackly as they flickered past. Boots, Claire's Accessories, a dozen different coffee shops. He took a left, a right and another left but Ash still stayed on his tail. The man seemed unshakable, and Yassen was tiring now. He wondered how long he could carry on simply balancing on the board around these hard turns. He took a tight bend, Ash went shooting round the outside and suddenly they were neck and neck, speeding along together.

They were moving at exactly the same speed. As Yassen's eyes focussed on Ash, they might have been standing still. The wind blowing on his face and the rocking of the board seemed part of another world. As he watched, Ash's fangs were bared again in a final, triumphant grin.

And then there was an almighty clang and face and board were ripped out of his sight. Yassen was two hundred metres down the street and over a wall before his brain pieced together what had happened. Ash's vengeful feelings had been his downfall once again. Eyes focused on Yassen, he had crashed straight into a lamp post. Yassen sped on, true and straight now, a kind of cold satisfaction settling inside him. Whatever fancy modifications Ash might have, he was no match for years of experience. Yassen never got distracted.

But as he flew the other man's earlier words filtered back through to him.  _I owe you for the research_. Yassen slowed slightly, spreading his own hands before himself in the moonlight. And as he did so a crushing memory swam to the surface of his mind, blotting out everything else.

' _John! John!'_

_There was nothing but his own anguished voice, calling out in utter darkness. A pain like losing your heart. Begging for it to end. And one sight: the cold glint of a scalpel in lamplight before the vision swam out of sight._ _Yassen was left alone, still speeding along on his board._

Gaps, flashbacks. Yassen pushed a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of it all. Nightmares. Moments of disorientation. Getting rattled by the prospect of a simple kill. None of this was like him at all.

What had been done to him? He wondered if it even mattered. He remembered being picked up off the streets of Moscow, heading eagerly towards Malagosto. That had been his choice, definitely. But one thing was certain. Scorpia was a closed door to him now. Ash had replaced him; he was superfluous. And without his organisation to back him up, he would be vulnerable to MI6 or any of the other groups he had antagonised at various times. If it hadn't been for the fact that Scorpia were done with him, maybe he would have been able to ignore this discovery, but now he wanted to know how much he had chosen, what had been done to him. There was nothing to be gained by keeping his head down and carrying on as before. Carrying on as before was impossible.

He needed somewhere safe to hide, to get himself together and plan how to get the answers he needed. He flew swiftly back to the hotel; it was the first place Ash would look for him, but he wasn't surrendering his violin now. He hurried around the room, flinging the few items he had bothered to unpack back into his case. He lifted out the bottom and gazed down for a moment at the dark wood of the violin, and the backs of the photographs that he still did not turn over. Then with finality he slammed the case shut. He was heading to the safest place he could think of. Its status as such was a sure testimony to how dangerous for him the rest of the world had become.

*     *     *

'Merry Christmas, Alex.'

Alex looked up as a brightly coloured package landed in his lap. He was sitting on one of the comfy blue chairs in the library with his chemistry textbook open on his knee. As he looked up his friends descended on him from all sides and began dispensing Christmas presents to each other as well. It was the last day of the school term and a holiday atmosphere pervaded the school.

'You study too hard, Rider,' Clara remarked, nodding at his textbook.

‘Says the boffin-in-chief for all time,' Taylor grinned, rolling his eyes at Alex. 'Here you go, bruv.'

Taylor's present wasn't wrapped, just folded in a carrier bag. Alex pulled out a bright orange basketball and span it on one finger.

'Basketball?' he asked.

'Yeah, I thought we should maybe try branching out into something besides football.’

'Sounds good to me. Wait, my presents are around here somewhere...'

He found his bag of presents under his chair and handed them out. He had been unsure what to get them and mostly opted for chocolate, but for Roberta he'd bought three packs of guitar strings. He wasn't sure it had been the right choice, but as soon as she unwrapped them her face lit up.

'Thanks Alex!'

'Uh, no problem. I didn't know if they'd be appropriate – '

'Of course they are; guitar strings are bloody expensive,' Roberta said bluntly. 'These'll keep me going for ages, thanks a lot.'

Alex was relieved. It had taken a non-negligible amount of courage to go into the music shop and browse for exactly the right kind of guitar strings, and it seemed that Rob knew this, because she looked genuinely touched.

Next to Roberta, Josh had just finished ripping the paper off a box of oil pastels from Jane.

'Hey,' he said, his face flickering before falling back into its usual deadpan mask. 'These...' His eyes took on a dreamy quality as he pulled the lid off the box and took out one of the pastels, testing the texture on his finger. '...these are great.'

'You're welcome.'

'Need something to draw on...'

Jane rolled her eyes and extended her arm. Josh grabbed her wrist, spat on his pastel and began to sketch on her skin. Soon the individual strokes were meshing together into a tree. It looked like something from a Japanese scroll. Jane bent her head forward, examining the work, and Alex felt a sudden urge to glance away. Clara noticed and held forward her present to occupy his attention. It was a CD: _Carmina Burana_ , composed by Carl Orff.

'Uh, Clara?'

'You'll love it.'

'So this would be...'

'Choral music, yeah.'

'You are just weird, Clara.'

'Alex, your taste in music is  _horrible_ ,' she insisted. 'It brings new meaning to the term clichéd.'

'You are such a bitch, Clara,' Josh put in, smudging pastels across Jane's arm.

'Trueish, Josh, true _ish_. But this stuff rocks, Alex. It's all about the wheel of fortune and everything being miserable and gambling and then spring and romance and one of the greatest drinking choruses known to humanity and then just when it's getting good it's back to the bottom of the dratted wheel again. It has a male alto solo in it which it is Taylor's life ambition to do.'

'Male alto?'

'Yeah, trying to recapture the magical era before my voice broke,' Taylor said, demonstrating a few bars in an eerily high-pitched tone. 'The top line is where all the action is.'

'Crikey, you sound like a crow with laryngitis.' Alex blanched.

'Shut up, frog, have some chocolate.'

At this point the librarian came over to kick them out for the dual offence of singing and eating in the library.

'Come on, guys, let's hit the town,' Rob said the second the bell went.

They wandered down the high street, already growing dark and glittering with Christmas lights.

'It's sick, man; they put them up so early we're all bored of them by Christmas,' Clara grumbled.

'Such is the crushing influence of consumerism,' Jane sighed. Alex took a moment to marvel at the strangeness of it all, walking down the street with a bunch of boffins/band dorks who all knew his secret, feeling perfectly included. Now that there were no assassins to worry about (though he was still keeping his eyes open) it was striking him afresh.

They stopped off at the bakery to get something to eat. Clara and Jane kept to the spirit of the season with sugar-dusted mince pies, but Alex got himself a large chocolate doughnut covered in sprinkles.

'Alright, where to next?' Jane asked briskly.

'Go get shumfin more shubshtanshial for dinner?' Alex suggested, squirting chocolate sauce everywhere.

'You had better not get any of that on my shoes, frog,' Roberta said menacingly, edging away down the street.

' _Chill_ , Rob,' Alex drawled, once he'd managed to chew and swallow his mouthful. She gave a surprisingly light-hearted giggle, and he said:

'What?'

'Oh, just your tone of voice.'

*     *     *

Yassen pressed himself flat against the alley wall so that he could see the group on the high street. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get rid of the scratching headache behind his temples. His stomach was churning with nerves, and he smiled wryly at himself. How ridiculous, now of all times.

Alex looked cautiously elated, his face stretched into a permanent smile as he munched on some awful cake or other. The guitarist had her hand almost protectively on his shoulder, explaining something with a lot of sweeping hand gestures. As he watched Clara said something and they all laughed together, except for the burly drummer, Josh, who's mouth twitched upwards in a quickly-muffled smile.

Yassen stepped out into the road behind them, feeling strangely reluctant to break their carefree mood. How to announce himself? He knew he was supposed to be currying favour, currying it with a bunch of teenagers, and ought really to approach them gently and humbly, but he couldn't resist laying on a little bravado, just to boost his own morale. He raised his voice to a carrying pitch, and said:

'Good evening.'

Clara whirled around with a shriek. Taylor and Roberta sprang forward and clutched onto her, as though they could protect her simply by hanging on. Alex was frightened, Yassen could tell, but the emotion did not travel further than his eyes as he moved into combat stance in front of his friends.

The look on Yassen's face was reserved for Alex alone. How could he fight his best friend's son, even if he had come here to fight? Slowly, he raised his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I update faster when you comment. ;)


	21. Alliance

Yassen could see every relationship in the band from where he stood. The way Roberta kept Clara tucked protectively into her side, the way Taylor came to join Alex as though he could possibly be of any help, the way Josh followed suit, carefully positioning himself in front of Jane as he did so. All laid out in front of him.

'Don't come any closer!' Alex snarled.

'Don't look so worried, Alex. I just want to talk.'

Clara gave a piercing, hysterical laugh.

'Talk?' she demanded. 'What the fuck is there to  _talk_  about?'

'I can explain.' Yassen took a step forward, and immediately Josh stepped out from behind Taylor, standing half in front of him, so that he and Yassen were almost face to face. Yassen could see why such a boy would feel confident in a fight; his arms were thick and muscle-bound and his face was almost empty of fear.

Foolish child.

'Look,' he said, speaking for some reason directly to Josh. He had once told Alex that he admired courage. It was true. He pulled out his Grach and the children flinched backwards a step. He set the gun down on the pavement and straightened up again. 'I surrender. Will you listen?'

Alex dived forwards, seizing the gun and bringing it up to aim at Yassen's chest.

'Back up against the wall,' he ordered. Yassen complied. He had expected as much. The movement took him out of sight of the main high street, back into the alley. Alex and the Non-Conformists moved with him. Now it was unlikely that any passers-by would notice the stand-off with a gun that was taking place.

'Don't move an inch,' Alex ordered, pulling out a mobile telephone. The ringing authority in his voice sparked a twist of sadness in Yassen. No child should be able to speak like that.

'Wolf,' the boy was hissing into the receiver. Yassen gave a slight grimace. He was calling for his soldier friends. That wouldn't make negotiations any easier; the SAS had always been shoot first, think never types. There was an explosion of incoherent shouting from the phone, and Alex held it away from his ear, his expression long-suffering. He was so like John, to have time for theatrical exasperation even in the middle of a desperate crisis. Bringing the phone back to his mouth, he managed to quiet the shouting man at the other end long enough to give their location and arrange a rendezvous. Then he clicked the phone off and turned back to Yassen.

'So what?' he demanded. 'If I'm going to stop the SAS from shooting you on sight I'd better have a good story. Why are you here?' He kept brandishing the gun around for confidence. Yassen sighed and came straight out with it.

'Scorpia seem to think I have reached the end of my usefulness to them, but a…situation has come to light. I would like to use your house as a base while I do a bit of digging.'

If Alex had been drinking a glass of orange juice he would have spat it clear across the street with shock at that point.

' _What_?' he shrieked like his voice had never broken. 'You try to assassinate my friend and then you pop up and say _I'd like to crash at your place for a while Alex_?'

'Alex, breathe,' Clara instructed.

'Don't tell me what to do, Clara!'

'Fine, suffocate then, see if I care.' She turned to Yassen. 'Elaborate. Why do you want to stay at Alex's? What do you mean by a  _situation_?' Her voice held the kind of contempt one can only muster when in extreme shock.

Yassen opened his mouth – some part of him managing to be amused at the thought of submitting to interrogation by a seventeen-year-old girl – but then there was a screech of tyres on Tarmac as a car spun into the ally and four men came tumbling out.

'Gregorovich!' one of them yelled, shouldering his rifle, but Roberta shouted:

'Don't shoot!' and the man hesitated.

'Yeah, don't shoot,' the leader, Wolf, echoed. 'Keep your guns on him, men, don't let him move.'

'I am not going to move, Wolf,' Yassen said. He saw the slight flicker of surprise in the man's expression when he used his code name. 'Why do you suppose I come here and put down my gun if I wish to fight?'

The soldier ignored him, indicating to his unit to keep their weapons trained on him, and turned to Clara and her friends.

'Miss Foster, go and sit in the car,' he ordered. ‘If anything happens I want you to drive like hell. The rest of you kids go home _now_!'

Jane looked ready to obey, but the others hesitated.

'Clara, are you going to be okay?' Roberta faltered.

'I said go.'

'Wolf,' Taylor argued, ‘I think she needs –'

' _Go_.'

Taylor planted himself stubbornly. 'I don't have a ride without her, man!'

'I don't give a damn, you can walk if you have to. Now get out of here!' Wolf roared. Yassen watched as Clara's friends turned tail with many anxious and terrified glances over their shoulders and hurried off down the road. Clara had slipped into the driver's seat of the Jeep but had left the door propped slightly open, so that she could hear what was said. Alex was standing with the rest of the unit. He looked like one of them, the youngest member. If it had been Yassen’s aim to prevent Alex from becoming a fully-fledged member of the intelligence community, he had certainly failed. He closed his eyes briefly and opened them again.

'So get talking, Gregorovich,' Wolf growled. 'What do you want?'

Yassen took a breath and opened his mouth. And paused. What he was feeling was ridiculous. A trained assassin, in a life-threatening situation, and he was  _embarrassed_. He couldn't bear to think of the words as he spoke them, just let them tumble flatly out of his mouth.

‘Scorpia have invented a new surgical procedure which greatly enhances an agents physical abilities. They have used it on my former partner Ash. He claims that the procedure also improves logic and aggression while suppressing emotion, and hinted that I had been used as a subject. As I explained to Alex, I wish to use your safe house while I investigate these claims.’

The orange-juice expression was back.

'You  _what_?' Wolf spluttered. 'You expect us to believe you became Scorpia's most notorious assassin because they operated on your  _brain_?'

'No-o…' Yassen said patiently.

'Bollocks.'

He raised one eyebrow. He shouldn't really be winding the soldier up like this, but he couldn't make himself grovel down and curry favour, and he was despising Wolf more with every passing second.

'I have seen what they did to Ash,' he said, coldly, evenly, ‘and so have you. The agent who attacked your men at the concert? None of us saw his face clearly, but it must have been Ash. His strength and reflexes have increased phenomenally, and while I don’t believe the alterations to his brain were as perfect as he claimed – ' Yassen paused, remembering Ash’s gloating and his moment of distraction, but also the total lack of the vulnerability he had always shown before – ‘I do think I saw a differenced.’ He looked Wolf straight in the eye. 'This concerns MI6 and the SAS as much as it does me. Once Scorpia have succeeded in producing one such creation, they will surely continue. Your volunteer troops will be overwhelmed.'

'If Scorpia think a bunch of souped-up street thugs are a match for skill and training they need their heads checked,' Wolf sneered. 'Not that I believe you,' he added hastily.

'There are research programmes,' the quiet Scottish soldier murmured, 'experimenting with repressing or amplifying certain centres of the brain with lesions – artificial scars or implants – in rats and mice. And Scorpia don't have the same ethics restrictions normal doctors do. It's theoretically possible.'

'Shut up, Snake.'

'You'll regret that when the super-vampires descend to eat your brain, Wolf,' remarked another soldier.

'For God's sake!' Wolf exploded. 'There  _are_  no super-vampires. He's just spinning some stupid story to –'

'I think he'd have come up with something more plausible than this if he wanted to trick us into something,' Alex said heavily.

'And he can't have been after killing Clara either,' Fox added, 'because – no offence, Cub – he could have done it before we turned up. He's right, Wolf. If there are any…super-vampires, it could turn into a very big problem for MI6.’

‘Right,’ Wolf said, ‘but why’s it a problem for _him_?’ He turned back to Yassen. ‘Why are you warning us?’

Advertising his outcast status and consequent vulnerability to these men was the last thing Yassen wanted to do, but unless they knew he had broken with Scorpia they would never trust him.

‘Ash tried to kill me,’ he said. ‘Tonight. On the orders of the executive board.’

All five of them gaped at him. Glancing past them, Yassen could see Clara Foster leaning out of the door of the Jeep, hanging on to every word.

‘They think you’re compromised,’ Alex said, staring at Yassen hard. A look of understanding shot between them.

‘ _Gregorovich_ , compromised?’ one of the soldiers said incredulously.

‘This latest assignment was hardly a success,’ Yassen said, ‘and before that I sustained an injury in the field. So. I would like shelter, and in return I offer you any information I uncover about Scorpia’s surgical procedures.’

‘And if he has some ulterior motive,’ the soldier called Fox said in a low voice, ‘I would very much like to know what it is. Let him try to double-cross us and we’ll see.'

'So what, just…just let him in the house? Next door to Foster?' Wolf demanded.

'MI6 will never approve that.' This was Alex.

'MI6 don't have to know,' Fox replied. 'I always hated those blood-sucking intelligence workers anyway.'

'You're crazy!' Alex yelled. 'Go behind Blunt's back, offer Clara up as bait again, just to – '

'It's not my fault you got attached, Cub,' Fox said, surprisingly gently.

'It's not my fault this mission got totally fucked up and out of control, either.'

'No' Fox shook his head slowly. 'I know, Cub. I know you're the only one who's performed with any degree of competence in this assignment, and you're right, too. But there's no other way.'

Alex closed his mouth and looked away. Of course there were other ways. He could demand that they take Yassen to their superiors, who could find out everything he knew down in the subterranean rooms that the public didn't know about, where the Declaration of Human Rights did not apply, and then investigate further themselves. But maybe there were things that Yassen, with his insider’s knowledge of Scorpia, could uncover that the intelligence services couldn’t, even with his cooperation. And more than that, something in him turned against the idea of handing Yassen over. Not John Rider's best friend, the closest link he had to his father.

The closest link. It was pretty damn far. He looked towards the car, where Clara was watching him blankly. She and her friends were important to him, in some ways much closer than the family he’d never known, but somehow he couldn't let go of Yassen even to ensure their safety. The two of them were wound too closely together, and he had never had a chance at answers from Yassen. He felt sickened at himself as he muttered:

'You're right. There is no other way. We'll have to help him 'till we find out more.'

Yassen heard his consent and began to glide forwards, but Wolf brought him up short with his gun.

'Get in the back,' he ordered, gesturing at the car. Yassen slid into the back seat as though he were climbing into a taxi, or a private limousine. Wolf ground his teeth as he slammed the door and climbed in the front. Clara wriggled over to give him the driver’s seat, then leaned back, her eyes closed and her face very pale. Wolf shook his head. Poor kid.

The rest of his unit, Cub and Gregorovich were crammed uncomfortably into the back. With their hands clenched on the Russian's upper arms they had no way of bracing themselves against the swaying of the car. Wolf heard Cub hiss as Eagle lurched into him around a corner. Eagle opened his mouth to retort, then bit it back, and Wolf was grateful. He didn't think he could stand it if the two of them started bickering now.

Finally he pulled into the drive-way of their house. Fox and Eagle frogmarched Yassen up the path and into the hallway. Wolf stopped in the front door and turned to Clara.

'We'll have three of us on guard all night…' he promised her.

'I feel  _so_  reassured,' she replied sardonically and headed off for her own house without a backward glance.

Yassen watched her go with a faint smile on his face. Altogether impressive. She would probably make it into her house before the hysterics set in.

'That room's spare.' Wolf jerked his head at a door and then walked back out to watch the front of the house.

'Don't try anything, Gregorovich,' the Scot muttered. He ran up the stairs while the other two scattered. Presumably they were securing the house, putting away anything sensitive before he could see it.

Yassen was left staring at Alex across the hallway. The boy was standing in the doorway to what Yassen guessed was his bedroom, about to vanish. Yassen drew in breath to speak, but Alex cut across him.

'The bathroom's second door on the right, if you want to argue with Clara do your research, don't make Jane mad, she will throw things at your head.'

'Alex –'

SLAM

Yassen sighed, went into the spare room and dropped, fully clothed, onto the bed. It was going to be a long night.


	22. House Room

Feeling sick, Alex walked up to Clara's door and knocked. Yassen and K Unit were standing behind him, none of them speaking. So apparently he was their mediator as well now. Clara opened the door, looking horribly pale. When she saw who was there, her eyes bugged out.

Alex's face twisted in apology.

'He needs to use the computer,' he said, gesturing with one hand. Clara looked at him.

'So MI6 did not install a computer in your safe-house?' she asked.

‘They did, but it’s got sensitive information stored on it.'

'I – I –' Clara stuttered. 'Look, you know what, perfect!'

She flung the door wide open and stalked off towards the kitchen. The rest of them walked hesitantly into the house.

'Study,' Alex grunted, pointing, and Yassen disappeared into the room he indicated and booted up the computer. K Unit stayed where they were.

Alex followed Clara down to the kitchen.

'What does he even need it for?' she asked. She was standing at the sink with her back to him, making herself look busy with some washing up.

'Research.'

'Oh, well  _that's_  illuminating.'

'I'm sorry, Clara – '

'S'not your fault.' Her voice sounded brittle.  _Don't cry_ , Alex thought,  _please don't cry_.

'So, you told Jack yet?' Clara asked, now sounding too normal.

'Oh God, I hope I never have to.'

'Yeah, I can imagine that wouldn't be fun...' She was trying to keep up the bravado, but Alex noticed that her hands were shaking. Suddenly she knocked a glass off the draining board and into the sink. He watched it shatter, turn from a smooth, flawless object into a mess of broken glass, and next thing he knew he was pulling Clara gently away from the sink.

'Clara, look, go practise the piano or something. Let me do this...'

Clara sucked in a huge, shuddering breath and whispered 'Okay.' She hurried out of the room, and a moment later he heard some very fast and complicated classical piece being played.

He scooped the shards of glass carefully out of the sink and binned them, then finished the washing up. The steady, mindless task helped to keep his own panic at bay, but the sound of the piano reminded him of a moth beating itself against a light bulb. He was sweating, his skin prickling with tension. He stacked the last of the breakfast dishes to dry and then flopped down with his back to the wall, burying his face in his hands. He sat like that until he heard the front door swing open again.

'Alex?'

He looked up sharply. 'Taylor? How did you get here?'

Taylor shrugged. 'Cycled.'

'I meant how did you get into the house?'

'Well, the door wasn't locked...I guess everyone you're worried about is already inside, huh?'

'Heh.' Alex laughed weakly. 'Yeah.'

'So how's it going?'

'Oh God.'

'That bad, huh?'

'Yep, pretty much.'

There was a thundering knock on the door. Alex went to get it. Josh, Jane, and Roberta came tumbling over the threshold, calling, 'Clara, Clara?'

'Guys!' Clara exclaimed, popping out of the living room. 'Taylor!'

'Oh wow, I get a special mention!' Taylor gushed, hugging her.

'So you got an assassin in your study, huh?' Rob said.

'Yup; my life sucks. Come on, I'll make you some hot chocolate and cookies.'

*     *     *

Yassen heard the front door open and knew that Clara's friends had arrived. He was impressed, but not altogether surprised. Turning up to help her face life-threatening situations was seeming increasingly like the kind of thing they would do.

He heard Clara lead them into the kitchen and start clanking around with mugs and bottles of milk.

'Oy, you boys, shift your sexist butts and help.'

'Why do  _we_  have to help?' Taylor moaned. 'I don't see you slave-driving Rob and Jane. But I guess you protect your own, huh?'

'Taylor, I am simply trying to remodel you into New Men for your own good.'

'Our own good, huh?'

'Seriously, this could shape your dating futures. Anyway, I know a lost cause when I see one. They're musicians, not domestic goddesses.'

'That's right,' Rob concurred around her gum. 'Where are...ah,  _K Unit_ , Alex?'

'I don't know, off being useless somewhere,' Alex grunted, taking a large bite of chocolate cookie.

At this point Yassen decided to venture forth from the study. Better to make contact and assess; he didn’t like being surrounded by unknown quantities, even if they were only children. He pulled open the door and stepped into the kitchen.

The six teenagers had been clustered around in a circle, talking, but at the sight of him they drew back, moving closer together and turning to face him. The simultaneous movement sent the slightest ping of warning through him. They might be untrained children, but they were close-knit and synchronised and that made them dangerous. He closed the study door quietly behind him, examining them as he did so. They looked almost like members of some other bright, ragged, mysterious species to him, with their bold clothing and slouching, self-conscious postures and brilliant, over-expressive eyes. They watched him warily for a few seconds, and then one of them – Jane – shook back her hair as though to say, _this is ridiculous. Who does he think he is?_ and stepped forward.

'Hello,' she said. 'We haven't been properly introduced yet. My name's Jane; I play violin for the band.' She held out her hand.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ Yassen said, taking it. ‘I enjoyed both your performances.’

He watched the reactions of the others over her head as they shook. Alex looked like he might start either laughing or screaming, Taylor was shaking his head in admiration...only Josh seemed totally unaffected. He was staring unwaveringly at Yassen with an appraising expression that the Russian couldn't quite interpret. How could this boy be weighing him up? What for? Was he simply trying to appear impressive? But when Yassen met his eyes he carried on looking with an air that was not quite caring enough to be insolence.

'We-ell...' Clara said as Jane finished shaking Yassen’s hand and stepped back.

'He knows who I am,' Rob said flatly, grabbing Clara by the arm. 'C'mon, I wanna show you a new piece I've been working on.' Jane might have decided to show bravado by forcing Yassen to play out social conventions, but Roberta was clearly sticking to open hostility. She dragged Clara off towards the living room, throwing Yassen a look of pure venom as she went. The others slowly followed, glancing uneasily over their shoulders as they turned their backs on him. Yassen stepped back into the study and sat down at the computer, but after staring at the screen for a few seconds he realised that the brief encounter had left him feeling drained. A few more seconds and he had hit on why.

It was emotional overload.

Only Josh had a face that was anywhere near as impassive as those he was used to. The others were like open books, but their expressions were so intense, and changed so rapidly, that being able to read them easily was the opposite of relaxing. The way the air crackled between Clara and Jane even when they were outwardly amicable; the lingering incomprehension between Josh and Taylor; the anxious, motherly looks Roberta kept throwing Alex...and of course, at their age, they had yet to realise that they were not the centre of the universe, that there might be people who were not the slightest bit interested in what they were thinking and feeling. Their faces were not yet tarnished with the dreariness of everyday life.

And the result was overwhelming.

There was a knock on the door.

'Yes?' he called, frowning slightly.

The door opened a crack and Josh slid into the room shoulder first.

'Hi,' he said. 'Mind if I hang out here for a bit?'

'...no,' Yassen answered, increasingly puzzled.

'Cool, thanks.' Josh grabbed a chair and dragged it until he was sitting at right angles to Yassen, pulled out a sketchpad and a pencil and began to draw.

Yassen glanced towards him, mildly disconcerted.

‘ _Don’t_ turn your head,' Josh ordered, reaching up and turning his face back towards the computer screen. 'Just shuffle your chair back a bit so the light falls on your face.'

Yassen complied, and then turned his attention back onto the computer. Or tried to, anyway. He had brought up a website for the Widow's Palace and was now attempting to hack from there into Scorpia files, but the scratch of Josh's pencil was proving very distracting.

'Meh,' Josh muttered, tearing the first page off his pad and staring again. 'Bring out the cheekbones more...'

He could hear the odd chord being played on the piano and the murmur of voices, and then someone started to sing. A fine, vibrant tenor, leaping suddenly and shockingly up into a falsetto wail. That must be Taylor. More speech. A harmony demonstrated one note at a time on the piano. Taylor began again, accompanied by another voice this time, which had to be Alex.

They repeated the same phrase a few times, interspersed with instructions and suggestions from the girls.

Taylor demonstrated the line in two different octaves.

An electric guitar started up.

'I wish you would stick to one expression, man,' Josh remarked, rubbing out with his shoulders hunched.

*     *     *

They had been at it for a good hour, Yassen trying to work and Josh industriously sketching, when Jane and Taylor came in.

'Josh, what on earth are you doing?' Jane demanded. 'Drawing Yassen?' They stepped forward and leaned over Josh's shoulders. 'You've been in here all morning.'

'He has interesting facial structure,' Josh grunted, not taking his eyes off his work. Taylor and Jane met each other's eyes over his head and shrugged simultaneously.

'Hmmm.' Jane glanced from the drawing to Yassen and back again. 'I see what you mean.'

'But we need you to come and try out a few drum rhythms for us now, bruv,' Taylor said. Yassen groaned inwardly. It seemed that if he didn't have to put up with the boy  _drawing_  him, he would have to put up with him drumming.

'Get Jane to do it,' Josh said.

'But I –' Jane protested.

'This is your next lesson. Improv. Crucial developmental stage. Knock yourself out.' Josh reimmersed himself in his portrait with all the finality of a father disappearing behind a newspaper. Taylor and Jane shrugged again and left.

Scratch that. He would have to put up with Josh drawing him while Jane played the drums. And probably with less accuracy than Josh would have done, which would make listening harder to bear, though in truth she hadn't been bad at all in the concert...

With an effort Yassen hauled himself out of his drum-related thought groove and reapplied his mind to computer hacking.

At about two o'clock Clara stuck her head around the door and said:

'Um, excuse me, are you two coming out for lunch?'

'Definitely, I'm starving,' Josh said, getting to his feet. 'C'mon, Yassen.'

Yassen got slowly to his feet, stretching out his arms. Clara stopped Josh in the doorway and said,

'Let's see.'

Josh showed her the sketchpad.

'Those are jolly good,' Clara said in an almost vague tone. She looked from the drawings to Yassen and back again. ' _Jolly_  good.'

Yassen stepped forward and peered over Josh's shoulder, interested in spite of himself. The page was a mess of rough outlines and sketches, and superimposed over them were three complete drawings of his face. Yassen blinked. It was startling, like seeing a ghost, or glimpsing a mirror unexpectedly. One of the faces was entirely empty of expression, but in another something subtle burned. It made him uneasy to see how accurately Josh read him. Or was it just his artist's hand capturing what he saw, while his mind did not speculate at all? Did he understand, or did he only observe?

It would be comforting to believe the latter.

In the top left-hand corner of the page three solitary, experimental eyes stood in a column. Underneath them Josh had scribbled:

_Experiment with watercolour?_

'...scary,' Clara was saying. 'Now wash your hands.'

'Aaaawwww,  _Clara_...'

'They're covered in pencil. Wash them!' Josh’s thumb was shiny with lead from blending the lines.

Josh sloped off to the sink and Yassen followed Clara into the dining room, where the others were already helping themselves to pasta.

'Clara, you rock,' Taylor declared, splashing sauce onto his plate. 'Oh, uh...' He had just caught sight of Yassen entering the room. K Unit all stiffened in their seats as he sat down opposite them, keeping his hands in plain sight.

'Is Josh coming?' Jane asked briskly, breaking the tension.

'Yes, he just needed to wash his hands,' Clara replied, sitting down and beginning to serve herself.

'Needed, huh,' Josh grumbled, appearing in the doorway and plonking himself down in a chair.

'I think she's right, you've always got bits of oil pastel and things stuck under your nails,' Jane said as Josh began to ladle huge amounts of pasta onto his plate.

'It's me who'll be eating it if I don't wash it off, not you,' Josh pointed out with his mouth full. 'That which does not destroy us makes us strong and all that.'

'Speaking of nails, I need to re-do mine,' Roberta sighed, spreading hers out and examining them dolefully. She was studiously avoiding looking at Yassen. He got the impression that they were all working hard to keep a nonchalant conversation going. He wondered what they thought of Josh inviting him to lunch.

'I guess a liking for nail-varnish isn't really compatible with playing the guitar?' Alex said, speaking for the first time. His eyes never left Yassen and he looked ready to spring across the table and knock Clara to the floor at any moment.

'Nope, not really. My thumb nails are smooshed down to practically nothing.'

'You can tell a lot about a person by their hands,' Jane remarked with the air of one about to drop a bombshell. She turned to Yassen. 'For example, I could tell as soon as I shook your hand that you are a violinist.'

Yassen stared at her for a long moment. To everyone else at the table it probably looked like a death glare – and Jane shrank back a little – but in truth it was simply surprise.

'I beg your pardon?' he said at last.

'A violinist.' Jane seemed to recover her nerve a little. She leaned forwards and raised one of her hands. 'You've got calluses like I have right here under your nails, from pressing on the strings, I think?'

Yassen was smiling a little at her audacity as he examined his own hand. 'Yes,' he agreed, 'you are perfectly right. I have.'

'Rob gets them on her thumb from strumming,' Jane said, gabbling a little with relief. 'I don't think you get many on piano and saxophone –'

'No,' Clara said, 'but that's not the only way you can tell stuff from hands. I'm always writing things on mine.' She held out her hand to show the words ' _GET MORE COFFEE!_ ' scrawled across the back in black biro.

'I wonder what kind of calluses you get from holding a gun?' Jane mused.

Josh gave a rather grim smile. 'Probably the same as what you get from holding a drumstick. At the base of the fingers where they join the hand; here.'

'Yeah, that's about right,' Eagle agreed. 'Specially round the trigger finger.'

'Mmm,' Jane nodded, turning back to Yassen. 'Clara wrote a piece for two violins and piano for her A level composition. We could sight-read through it after lunch if you like.'

Yassen looked at her long and hard. He knew that the most sensible thing to do would be to refuse, but somehow it sounded like a challenge. Jane was challenging him to take her and her friends on in their bizarre artist world. And one couldn't seem intimidated.

'Very well,' he said indifferently.

Alex choked over his pasta and Josh thumped him on the back.

After lunch Wolf and Alex walked Yassen back over to their house to fetch his violin.

'Don't try anything, Gregorovich,' Wolf growled as he opened the door.

'What on Earth might I try that would involve playing the violin with this girl?' Yassen enquired reasonably.

'Well, there was that incident with the guitar last week, if you recall,' Alex murmured.

Yassen winced internally. He had momentarily forgotten about that.

'In my opinion that particular method was a waste of time,' he said, making for the stairs.

'Didn't stop you trying it once,' Alex called after him, folding his arms and leaning against the wall to wait.

Yassen opened the door to his bedroom and stepped inside, picking up his case and placing it on his bed. He opened it and pulled out the false bottom. There was the violin, there were the photographs. This time he flipped them over briefly. The first showed himself and John Rider, expertly slaloming down a black ski run. He couldn't remember who had taken it; whoever they were, they must have been a good photographer, and extremely trustworthy. The second was in black and white. It showed him standing beside his father, smiling proudly, trying to hold himself up straight, with his chin held unnaturally high. Yassen threw that one back into the case with a grimace and, after a moment's consideration, pocketed the other. Alex might like to see it. Then again he might not. Either way he should.

He lifted the violin up out of its velvet packaging. The old wood was mottled but still sleek and varnished. He fitted it under his chin and drew the bow slowly across the strings, listening intently, tightening here, loosening there....

'How much longer is that damned Russian going to take?' Wolf demanded, staring irritably at the ceiling as scraping notes drifted down to them.

'He has to tune up!' Alex told him indignantly.

Wolf turned very slowly to look at him. 'Er, Cub? I think those kids are getting to you.'

'Huh?'

'You do realise that is the weirdest thing you have ever said?'

'Oh.' Alex blushed a bit. 'Right.'

Yassen came back down the stairs, holding his violin and bow very delicately in front of him, his face more blank than ever.

'Right, come on,' Wolf grunted, kicking the door open and stomping off down the drive. When they got back Clara was sitting in front of the piano, looking rather pale and playing single notes for Jane to tune to.

'Uh, hi Yassen...' Jane beckoned him over to a music stand where a lot of sheet music was laid out. 'Do you want to play the first part or s-second?'

'Which are you more familiar with?' Yassen asked

'First.'

'I'll read second then.'

‘Okay; it's probably easier.'

'Let's tune,' Yassen said, playing a long, sustained note. Jane nodded. They bent their heads together, listening closely, comparing pitch.

'You're a little sharp,' Jane said. Yassen turned his tuning peg a fraction, loosening the string, and played again.

Alex stood next to Taylor for emotional support.

'This is absolutely...'

'Hideous?' Taylor suggested in a rather high voice.

'I was going to say surreal, but that works too.'

'Look at him with his little  _violin_ ,' Rob sneered, moving to stand beside them. 'Who does he think he is, anyway?'

Alex gave her a _what-are-you-talking-about-this-is-not-the-issue-_ here look, but he could see what she meant. As he turned back to watch the three players, Clara struck a low, thundering chord on the piano and Jane began to play a slow, mournful introduction.

Yassen turned the page for her as she played, then entered on a series of low, sustained notes beneath her.

'I think cello would be better there...' Jane whispered.

'Jane, just  _play_.'

There was a pause in the music, and then Yassen came in on a sharp, jagged rhythm, his brow furrowed in concentration as he followed the notes on the page. Jane began to play over him, the two parts meshing together in a complex harmony before Clara came crashing in underneath them. The music was growing faster and more cheerful. Yassen pursed his lips, moving his whole body with the violin as he negotiated the change.

'Hey, he's  _good_ ,' Taylor exclaimed. ‘ _Ow_!' he added as Alex and Roberta stood simultaneously on his feet from either side.

The mood of the piece changed again, becoming almost jazzy. Yassen fudged his way through a ridiculously complicated passage, then lowered his bow and took a much needed breather while Jane played a cadenza – a long series of unaccompanied ornamentations. She paused on the top note...inched one note higher...and then came tumbling rapidly back down into the tune while Yassen and Clara came in to catch her. The piece took off into a final climax and finished with two decisive chords and a huge glissando down the full length of the keyboard.

'Clara!' Jane yelled. 'That wasn't in the score!'

'I'm the composer.' Clara was actually laughing now. 'My word is law. So, what did you think of it?'

'It's very good,' Yassen said blandly. 'The mood is quite varied.'

'Well, I was playing with my medium, you know.'

'I'm pretty sure this wants to be an orchestra piece really,' Jane said, peering at the music. ‘With multiple movements.’

'Well, maybe I can re-arrange it,' Clara replied. 'Our big break.'

'Hey, I thought that was meant to be me on my guitar!' Rob protested.

'I can see it all now!' Jane cried, ignoring her. 'We shall travel to Europe and play in the great New Year's Day concert in Vienna. We shall perform the Waltz of the Blue Danube on the very banks of the river in question. Clara conducting (no piano in orchestra, sorry), and Yassen and I as first and second chair! What do you say, Yassen?'

'I despise Strauss.'

'Huh. You would. Killjoy.' Jane turned mock-grumpily to gather up the music, still grinning. 'That was quite an impressive piece of sight-reading, although I think you missed some notes in this fast passage.’

‘Unfortunately I’m a little out of practise,’ Yassen said modestly.

‘Still good, though,’ Clara said. ‘It sounds much better live than when the computer software plays it.'

 _Please,_  Alex thought,  _please don't tell me they_  like  _Yassen Gregorovich_.  _Oh God, I can see them getting on. It's exactly the sort of thing they would do._

Roberta picked up her guitar, clearly intending that they should pick up their rehearsal where they’d left off before lunch. She moved to the piano, her body language muscling Yassen out of his place by the music stand. Alex admired her nerve, and he also felt grateful. The sooner this little jamming session was broken up, the better. He didn’t like it, though he hardly knew why. The others clustered around, grabbing their music. Yassen seemed to have taken the hint. He was moving back towards the study. But then he called,

'Alex.'

The others had dismissed him from their music circle, but none of them quite seemed to dare to tell Yassen to his face to leave Alex alone. Alex cursed, even as his own curiosity prevented him from doing the same. He followed the Russian into the study.

'What?' he said.

'This is a picture of your father,' Yassen said without preamble, holding out an old photograph. Alex didn't want to take it, but what else was he supposed to do?

It was a photograph of two people skiing. It wasn't like there was much to look at; his father's face and hair were mostly obscured by sunglasses, scarf and hat.

'Who's that with him?' he asked.

'Me.'

Alex did a double-take. He looked more closely at the second figure, slighter than his father, though it was hard to tell the difference under the bulky jackets.

'Skiing?' he asked.

'It was part of my training. It was also rather fun.' Yassen shrugged indifferently. 'He was extremely good at it.'

'It sounds like he was good at everything,' Alex murmured. Yassen didn't miss the bitterness in his voice.

'You're still angry about the truth I told you,' he said. It was a statement, not a question.

'I don't like the idea of having an assassin for a father,' Alex said, completely truthfully.

'Alex, MI6 have trained you to see the world in black and white, but in my opinion your father was a very worth-while person. He was always  _good_  to me.'

'You know what Clara and the others said to me?' Alex said, his voice suddenly full of suppressed rage. 'They said "at this age most kids are trying to be as different from their dads as possible. What does it matter what he was?" And you know  _nothing_  about my father.' For a moment he was tempted to throw the truth about John Rider in Yassen's face, but something in him made him hold back. After all, what would be the point? And anyway, Yassen  _might_  just decide to turn around and kill him if he knew that John Rider hadn't been on his side after all. He sighed and made to hand the photo back.

'Keep it.'

'But...' Alex was astonished, and not a little irritated, but he settled for the most courteous objection first: 'Are you sure?'

'I have no need of it.' Yassen was suddenly cold and distant again. He turned around and left the room, leaving Alex staring at the photo, feeling utterly perplexed.


	23. Sketches

'Yassen the assassin reared his ugly head yet?' were Josh's first words when he turned up on Alex's doorstep at 8am the following morning.

'I suspect him of being awake, but I haven't actually seen him yet.' Alex had been up since six, and doing nothing more productive than staring at the photograph Yassen had given him when Josh arrived, so although he was tired he wasn’t irritated by the early call. 'What d'you want then?' Josh set little or no store by polite phrasing of questions, so Alex felt safe in being blunt.

'I wanted to go up the lane and paint the bare oak trees in the light of the rising sun. The others are all here, Clara fancied a walk and she said we should bring you. Wanna come?'

‘Okay then.' He was already wearing trainers and a jacket, so he simply yelled: 'I'm going out!' over his shoulder and stepped out of the door, slamming it shut behind him. Outside the day was crispy and full of yellow autumn leaves, and the sky was opalescent overhead. Breathing in the sharp air, Alex wanted to run.

'Weather forecast mentioned snow,' Josh said.

'Pretty clear now, though. Where are the others?'

'Waiting in the lane. C'mon.'

He found their friends clustered on the verge, wrapped in coats and scarves with the steam of their breath rising in puffs above them. Taylor was just locking up his bike on a lamp post as Josh and Alex stepped out of the drive.

‘Morning bruv,' Taylor said, clapping Alex on the shoulder. 'C'mon, guys, let's bounce.'

They walked for about a quarter of the mile up the lane to a group of gnarled oak trees, where Josh, to the alarm of the others, lay down in the middle of the road, propped his canvas on his knees and began to sketch in the shapes of the branches that twisted overhead.

'It's eight in the morning at the weekend,' he said when they protested. 'If you're so worried, go watch for cars.'

'Pah,' Jane tutted, and she and Clara strode off in opposite directions to scan the road for cars.

'Race you to the other side of the field,' Taylor challenged Alex. That was all the invitation Alex needed. He was itching to let off steam. The two of them hurried to the verge, jostling each other's elbows to ensure that neither started before the other. They took their marks and then dashed forwards. Alex stripped off his jacket half way across the field and let it fall, relishing the feel of the wind whipping through his hair. Taylor had a slight edge on him when it came to speed, but he was a sprinter and was flagging by the time they reached the other side of the field, allowing Alex to draw level. They skidded to a halt side by side and stopped to catch their breath.

'Beat you back!' Alex yelled as soon as Taylor had got comfortable with his hands on his knees, and streaked off with his protests fading behind him. This time he won by a couple of feet, his stamina beginning to win out over Taylor's speed.

No headache-inducing chord combinations, no coercion, no guns. It was the best fun he'd had in ages.

Roberta had climbed up into one of the oak trees Josh was drawing, and so she was the first one to spot Yassen approaching.

*     *     *

Yassen had been awake since the small hours, scanning over the maps he'd recovered the previous day, noting down theories, comparing data. But in truth he disliked this kind of detective work. He’d spent the last fifteen years cultivating the discipline to be reasonably competent at it, but nonetheless it made him feel both frustrated and tense. He preferred action, the following of structured, definite plans, the quick-fire decision-making of combat. And so when amber light began to slant through his bedroom window, he couldn't resist taking a break. It wouldn't be an indulgence; he had worked well for the last few hours, and breaks were necessary for focus.

He ignored the door and the stairs. He didn’t feel like accounting for his comings and goings to K Unit. Instead, he worked his way carefully out of his bedroom window, balancing on the sill and then jumping so as to land on his side in the garden, body-weight evenly distributed. He wasn’t technically a prisoner, but they should still have had a man outside. Sloppy. He vaulted the lane into the fence and landed sprinting, racing for a few hundred yards before settling into a brisk, swinging walk. The air was crisp and cold; sound travelled for miles, and he heard a loud, teenage voice shout:

'Car!'

So he wasn't alone in the lane. Rounding a corner, he saw four silhouettes scattered loosely around the road. Clara to one side, Jane to the other, the shortest figure with the outline of her head softened by her curly hair; Alex and Taylor further out but rapidly approaching, slouching and poking one another like typical teenage boys. But where were the other two? As the group spotted him and Alex broke into a run to reach the girls before Yassen did, Yassen realised that Joshua was actually lying in the middle of the road. He quickened his pace, spurred on by a moment of frank curiosity, but before he could move more than a step a voice above him called:

'Oy!'

He looked up. There was a figure in the branches of the tree, barely discernable against the sun. He waited, and a curtain of pink and black hair tumbled into his field of vision as Roberta dropped backwards off her branch and hung by her hooked knees, meeting his eyes with a hard and insolent stare.

'Good morning, Roberta,' he said coolly. She slowly cocked one eyebrow, the single motion transforming her face into a mask of distain. There were dark ticks of eyeliner at the corners of her eyes, emphasising their almond shape. The effect was like war paint, designed to terrify, but also to conceal. To protect. There were probably many men who found her intimidating. Yassen observed only that she, like him, was masked, and that his mask was less noticeable and concealed him better. There was a vulnerable soul in there, ready to crumble. He matched her expression eyebrow for eyebrow, feeling a controlled trickle of amusement as he did so. He wasn’t there to crumble her. He could play along.

'You again?' she demanded grumpily, swinging slightly back and forth.

Yassen didn’t reply. 'What are you doing?' he called past her to Josh, determined to satisfy his curiosity. Josh raised an arm, waving his canvas vaguely in the air by way of answer, then settled it back on his knees and continued his work. Yassen watched for a moment, and then Roberta drew his attention again by cursing sharply. She had tried to twist round to watch Josh and nearly fallen out of the tree.

'You  _let_  him do that?' he asked.

‘Nope,' she replied, still slightly breathless from her slip, but rapidly pulling herself back together. She gave a sharp jerk, stomach muscles contracting to haul her upper body up, gripped the branch firmly and unhooked her legs, swinging herself down and dropping to the ground in front of him. 'But he'd do it anyway and it's safer if we help.'

As if to prove her point, Jane shouted:

'Car!'

'Oh, for God's sake, I'm losing my light,' Josh grumbled, hauling himself to his feet and scooping up his canvas and water-colours. 'Oh, hi Yassen.'

Yassen inclined his head. Roberta's aggression or Josh's bravado, neither of them were going to faze him.

'I did some more work on those sketches last night.' Josh said. 'We can look through them later.'

'Why? I am no artist.'

'You need the feedback of the person you're trying to capture; it's helpful. If they disconcert you I'll know my work is done.'

'Yassen is  _never_  disconcerted.'

The three of them looked round and saw that Alex and Taylor had joined them. Clara and Jane were also listening, but looked unwilling to get too close. It was Alex who had spoken.

'Nuh-uh,' Josh said, shaking his head. ' _I'm_  the one who never gets disconcerted, 'cause I let the world bounce off me. You build yourself a wall, that's asking for someone to come and smash it down. Berlin, anybody?'

Taylor and Roberta were wearing long-suffering expressions. Clara was nodding in agreement. Alex watched Josh from under his fringe and then flicked his eyes sideways to glare at Yassen.

'Behold my mighty crowbar,' Josh added, raising his lead pencil. He addressed his next statement directly to Yassen. 'You've got to accept that you're not invulnerable, and then when something comes along to prove it it doesn't surprise you.' He tucked his canvas under his arm and began to walk backwards along the lane. He spread his hands wide.

'That's the wisdom of the street, guys.'

'What about your light?' Clara demanded.

'I can fill it in later. Got the outlines down. Chocolate-box coursework. At least the branches were nice to look at. Cool structure. Hmm.' His eyes flicked briefly over Yassen's face, and then he turned round and began to walk properly. There seemed to be a general consensus back home, so, almost automatically, Yassen fell in with them.

*     *     *

'So you told him everything.'

'Not exactly, Mrs Rothman. I told him a very little...'

'And he saw more. Guessed the rest. What you are forgetting, Ash, is that three quarters of any assignment takes place in the mind. You set too much store by physical prowess; you forgot that Gregorovich's mentality is that of the finest of assassins, however inferior his body may be to yours. You were overconfident. You told him our most secret plans, and then you let him slip through your fingers.'

'My apologies.'

There was just the faintest bite in his tone as he said that. Not quite sarcasm, not quite aggression, but the apology was...minimal, to say the least. Looking up, she was reminded that the creature who stood in front of her was no mere pliable agent, his mind susceptible to all the ways she could bend it with words, but a cold, analytical being with little fear, less mercy and the ability to crush her skull in his fist.

If she were not careful, this weapon could spin very rapidly out of control – but no. Whatever had been done to him, however he had changed, underneath he was still just Ash. He might possess overlaid speed, fabricated logic, but her mind, like Yassen's, was all her own. She was Scorpia's leader, its master, its cold, unrelenting heart. He would bend to her will, just like every other agent she had encountered, on either side.

Except for...

 _Rider. Both._  First father, then son, they kept cropping up, like bad pennies. No good to anyone, a danger to all.

'This may play out to our advantage,' she said softly, her face composed, a mask of poise and makeup. There were very slight creases at the corners of her mouth where her powder had cracked with the movement of her face. ‘You were overly free with your information to Gregorovich, but I’m sure you have piqued his interest. I expect he is still in the country – none of our eyes have seen him elsewhere – but even if he isn’t, there is no need to go looking for him yet. If I have judged him correctly, he will be coming to us like a fly to honey before very much longer...he will want to find out more.'

More than believing him to still be in the country, Mrs Rothman had a hunch as to exactly where he had gone – the kind that had little evidence to support it, but which one intuitively knew to be true. With his ties to Scorpia severed, the Russian’s tiny, indelible sentimental streak might finally have led him where it had always wanted to go. Besides, he was a resourceful man; the kind to get burned by his employers and find himself a new safe-house within the hour; to hide in plain sight; to think of an audacious plan and make it work. The Rider boy, an elite SAS unit and that girl who could calmly defuse a bomb while performing...Julia Rothmans's lip curled as she remembered her. Yes, they would do very well for some improvised assistance, should the Russian's inquisitive side take over and inspire him to do a little digging round Ash's hints. She would wait for more intelligence before she moved, but she was sure where he was.

'So that's it? We wait?' Ash said.

'Ash, you will get your chance at revenge,' Mrs Rothman said sleekly. 'Why waste resources and attract attention tearing up the Essex countryside when Gregorovich positively  _intends_  to come to us? He will want to learn the truth. He will come, and we will be waiting.'

'Very good.' Ash bowed his head slightly and turned to leave.

'Oh, and Ash?' she called as he reached for the door handle.

'Yes, Mrs Rothman?'

'Don't underestimate him again, will you now?'

Ash did not reply. He pulled open the door and disappeared, along the corridor and out of sight.

*     *     *

That evening, while Roberta strummed softly on her guitar in the soft-lit living room, Yassen and Josh did look over the pictures. Yassen saw himself from all angles, sometimes stylised, sometimes captured as though on camera, and it was disconcerting.

He was beginning to think that Josh’s calm, and his insistence on using him as a model, weren’t just a show of bravado. There was nothing affected in the relaxed delivery of his blunt sentences. The boy was more frightened of Yassen than he let show, certainly, but he was also interested enough in him to overcome that fear. He wasn’t just trying to show off.

Normally when somebody scrutinised Yassen this closely, they were looking for weaknesses to use against him, but a teenager wouldn’t know what to look for or be able to exploit what he found. If Josh was trying to protect his friends or harm Yassen with this endeavour, he was going to be sorely disappointed. But Yassen sensed that Josh was no more interested in getting a hold over him than in showing off to him. As he had guessed the day before, Josh was an observer. Yassen’s mask was not being penetrated. Instead it was being turned this way and that, examined from all sides, being searched, not for weaknesses, but for the stuff it was made of. Of course there were no chinks in his armour that this boy could exploit, but all the same, such close scrutiny was uncomfortable.

The artworks were excellent. Disconcerting, indeed.


	24. Snowballs

'It's snowing,' Josh said to Alex, nodding out of the window. 'I told you so.'

'Oh, shut up,' Alex replied, kicking Josh's chair. Josh said nothing, just gave one of his wry smiles and settled himself more comfortably, hands curled around his mug of hot chocolate.

It was nine thirty in the morning and they had convened, as they had been doing since Yassen showed up, around Clara's dining table. They weren't doing much, just sipping coffee or hot chocolate, wrangling companionably and watching the early snow swirl past the window. Despite Alex's assertion that it was too clear for snow, Josh's prediction had come to pass, and in a rare moment of high spirits he was refusing to let Alex forget it.

'There goes global warming,' Jane remarked.

'Nah, it's caused by storm clouds getting caught in the Alps due to warm winds from the melting ice caps pushing them in the wrong direction and the Gulf Stream changing course and all that,' said Clara.

'Gulf Stream, granted, but if the storm clouds are getting caught in the Alps then why's it snowing here?'

'Don't ask me. Maybe it's blowing across?' Clara grinned a bit, her eyes straying to the window to gaze dreamily out at the snow.

'Speaking of snow, you guys don't have to keep hauling yourselves over here in it,' Alex said. Briefly he wondered how much inconvenience it was causing Josh, Roberta, Taylor and Jane to come and be with him and Clara in their hour of need.

'We don't mind,' was all Taylor said.

'Sure, but I was thinking.' Alex leaned forwards and clasped his hands on the table in a 'proposal' posture. 'If you're going to keep spending every day here, how about you and Josh stay at my house and you girls stay at Clara's? It's the school holidays, after all.'

'What, sleep in the same house as the Russian maniac?' Taylor said. 'And...K Unit?'

'I'm not saying it's restful, bruv, but you get used to it.'

'It doesn't sound exactly comfortable...' Taylor mused, 'but then neither is cycling though a blizzard.'

'Stick around, you guys,' Clara invited. 'To be honest, I feel a whole lot better when you're here.'

'Well,' Josh said, 'perhaps we will. Yeah. Yeah, the idea has merit.'

They lapsed back into silence for a minute.

'I'm bored,' Roberta declared.

'What, with five grown fish on the place?' Clara asked in mock surprise. ‘Well, four fish and one superannuated non-fish.’

'You are never gonna let that go, are you? But we haven't played properly in ages; really let rip in the garage, I mean. Maybe jamming with the Russian maniac is satisfying for you classical musicians, but I want to rock out.’

'Mmm, jam,' Clara murmured.

'Stick to the point and don't make puns. Let's move out, head for the garage. I want to have a go at the guitar solo in 'Sweet Child o' Mine.'

' "Sweet Child o' Mine?" ' Alex echoed. 'What's that?'

‘Seventies rock,’ Roberta said. ‘Seminal.’

'Oh.' Alex paused, then nodded slowly. 'I see.'

*     *     *

'Where is Alex?' Yassen asked, when he entered the dining room of their house to find only K Unit sitting there.

'He went out,' Wolf answered in tones of deep suspicion. They had been rattled by his excursion the previous day. Yassen, turning his head away, allowed himself a brief smile.

'To Clara's house?'

'Nah, they were talking about heading to the garage,' Eagle told him, ignoring a glare from his leader. 'The garage of that kid Josh's place,' he clarified. 'Scary, that kid.'

Wolf gave a sarcastic snigger. 'You find  _him_  scary?'

'Yeah, I do. In a way.'

'You need to sort out your priorities, man,' Wolf said, shaking his head.

Yassen stood.

'Where are you going?' Wolf demanded, leaping instantly to his feet as well. Yassen eyed him coolly.

'I thought I would walk to the garage in order to, as the English have it,  _blow away the cobwebs_ ,' he replied.

'Hey, Wolf,' the soldier called Fox cut in, touching Wolf's elbow from where he sat, 'it's okay. We were going to go for a run, remember? There's a route to the garage across country; how about we all go?' He looked to Yassen as he finished, his eyes questioning.

Yassen confirmed that the arrangement would be acceptable.

'I doubt Cub will be too highly delighted by us all showing up,' Fox said, getting to his feet and stretching, 'but there it is. C'mon, troops, let's move out.'

Wolf put a leg across the door as Fox reached it.

' _Who_  gives the orders around here, Foxy-boy?'

Fox grinned broadly.

'You do, oh mighty leader.'

'Then fall in,' Wolf said, gesturing to the back of the group. 'All follow me, stay together, no straggling.'

They set off down the lane behind the house, cutting through the hedge and into the first of the patchwork of fields that surrounded the area. The snow was falling thickly now, already rising to obscure the tips of the grass. Yassen ran steadily at the back of the group, ignoring them as steadfastly and more successfully than they were ignoring him, focussing instead on the gently swirling flakes and the silence that their pounding footsteps failed to fill.

After about three miles steady running, still a walk in the park for the Russian despite his injury, they came out onto a large football field, on the other side of which was a row of houses, and beyond them a road. Yassen had been here before. He remembered setting a bomb in the garage with Ash, then disappearing into the same brush he and K unit were now emerging from, and watching as Taylor ran across the field to an ice cream van and was jumped by a group of boys.

He followed K Unit across the grass to the garage, which was attached to a row of houses that backed onto the park. Wolf approached the door of the tall concrete building, hesitated, then shrugged and knocked.

There was the sound of bolts being drawn back, and then the door opened to reveal Josh. He didn't look at all dismayed to see them; on the contrary, his face lit up in a small way.

'Oh, hi,' he said. 'C'mon in.' As K Unit trooped into the garage, they revealed Yassen standing behind them.

'Come on,' Josh repeated, jerking his head. Yassen stepped slowly forward and into the garage.

The evidence of music having been played was all around them: a saxophone with its various bits of tubing assembled, instrument cases open, guitar amps still hissing. However, it seemed that the Non-Conformists had found something else to amuse them. They had cleared a large space in the centre of the garage, and Alex and Roberta were standing in the middle of it, clearly sparring. As Yassen watched, Alex circled round and struck upwards with his heel, a deliberately slow kick which Roberta neatly dodged. Hopping on one leg, Alex walked her through a counter-attack, showing her how to grab his heel and twist him off-balance. As he noticed their arrival the two of them stilled and turned. Two pairs of dark, accusing eyes pinned Yassen down. He was sure that they were remembering the last time he and they had been together in this garage, when Julia Rothman had ordered their deaths and then decided to wait for the concert instead. Their stares prickling on the back of his neck, Yassen turned away to look down the length of the garage, to the wall that was painted to look like an extension of the room. So well painted, in fact, that he'd run straight into it. A reddish-brown smear at about head-height caught his eye.

'Oh yeah,' Josh said, following his gaze, 'I was quite pleased with how well that one turned out.'

Yassen inclined his head very slowly.

'I left the blood on the wall as a warning to others,' Josh added. This did not improve the atmosphere.

'Ahem!' Wolf coughed awkwardly. 'Uh, did you do all these, Josh?'

Josh, all amiability now gone, gave him his most emo-ish look.

'Yeah, uh...wow.'

They were interrupted by a grunt from Alex as Roberta succeeded in driving the heel of her palm into his chest.

'Good,' he panted, rubbing his bruised breastbone, 'good. But you need to aim lower next time. Not in  _that_  way,' he added impatiently as Roberta stifled a snigger. 'The chest is protected by breastbone and ribcage. You're more likely to bruise your hand than anything else. Now try aiming for my stomach. Of course, the disadvantage of that is that you have to stoop to reach. Bend your knees, not your back.'

'She might do better to kick in this case,' Yassen put in. 'It's too low a target for her to comfortably reach with her hand.'

'You think you can get your leg up that high?' Alex asked.

'I can try.' Roberta spun on one heel and lashed out with her left foot, catching Alex squarely in the stomach.

'Ow!' he yelled, doubling over. 'This is a  _practise_  bout, woman!'

'You were a little unbalanced on the finish,' Yassen pointed out. 'Bend your right knee to steady yourself.'

Roberta nodded slightly. Alex gave an irritable twitch of his shoulders at Yassen’s interruption and assumed another combat stance, circling slowly to the left. Suddenly he lunged forward, letting loose a flurry of blows which Roberta scarcely managed to dodge.

'Have you taught her how to unbalance an opponent?' Yassen called. 'It's a useful technique when –'

'Look, who's teaching this lesson, me or you?' Alex demanded, whirling round to face him.

'Awww, come on, Alex,' Roberta said. Her eyes met Yassen’s, hard and mocking. 'Let him join in if he wants to.'

'Right,' Alex growled. 'Roberta says I should let you join in.' His shoulders slowly lost their mutinous hunch, straightening out. 'You want to try a bout with me?'

'No thank you,' Yassen replied over the loud 'ooooohhhhh!' from K unit.

'Why not?' Alex asked. 'Afraid you'll lose?'

'If that's what you're worried about,' Roberta chimed in over K Unit's sniggers, 'try a bout with me.'

Yassen turned to address her directly. 'I don't think that would be a good idea.'

'Why not?' Roberta tilted her chin, raising one eyebrow. 'Afraid you'll like it?'

Once corner of Yassen's mouth pulled up in quiet humour. 'Afraid? Not at all,' he replied, and began to unbutton his coat.

Alex was glaring. 'Be careful how you throw your punches,' he muttered warningly, before stalking off to join his friends leaning against the wall of the garage. Yassen hung his coat over one of the many spiky pieces of musical equipment that cluttered the room and rolled his shoulders a few times, stretching. Then, feeling sufficiently warmed up from his run, he stepped forward to join Roberta in the middle of the garage.

She had assumed a neutral fighting stance, and it was clear to Yassen that Alex had been teaching her for a while. She might be a good fighter one day, though she had started late. Yassen approached, slipping into combat stance as he moved, beginning to circle. Roberta mirrored his movements, then dashed forwards and attacked.

Yassen was taken by surprise. He hadn't expected her to take the initiative. But he blocked her first blow easily enough, dodged her second and then landed a square hit in her ribs. She stumbled and retreated, resuming her waiting stance. He hadn't hit her hard enough to do any damage, but he'd made her cautious. That was good.

He threw a punch, and she managed to get her hand around his wrist. He could have ripped free if he'd wanted to, but her technique was sound so he allowed her to twist his hand away and aim a strike at his abdomen.

He tensed his stomach muscles to absorb the blow. There was power behind it; he was forced to give ground to compensate for the impact. She pressed her advantage fluently and ruthlessly, landing a stinging punch on the side of his head.

Applause clattered in the echoing space. Yassen's head was ringing slightly from the last hit, but he could still think clearly enough. Plainly it was time to up his game.

He took a step back, slightly hunched as though wary, and then lashed out suddenly with both fists. The blow failed to connect, as he had intended it to, but it had served its purpose: Roberta had flailed backwards to avoid it and was now caught off balance. He made a scything motion with one hand, clipping her on the jaw. She backed up further, the first flickers of fear igniting in her eyes, and flung a wild punch. He caught her arm and twisted it behind her back, and suddenly they were face to face, almost touching. Roberta's teeth were bared in a snarl of pain – but still plenty of fight – as she bent backwards, instinctively trying to relieve the pressure on her arm.

'Your hands are trapped,' he said. 'What are you going to do next?'

Roberta rammed her knee savagely towards his groin.

Yassen's free hand slammed into the top of her leg, blocking the attack.

'You're off balance,' he replied. His hand shifted, gripping under her knee, and he spun her round and flung her hard to the floor.

She lay very still for a moment or two, and Yassen, feeling his hand burn where the coarse denim of her jeans had scraped the skin, wondered if he might have overdone it. But then Roberta gave a groan and shifted slowly onto her elbows, grimacing as she moved.

'Rob, are you  _okay?'_  Clara called, sounding genuinely alarmed.

'Ow.' Roberta planted a hand on the garage floor and sat up slowly. ' _Wow. Ow!'_

'How do you feel?' Alex asked.

'Mph.' Roberta got slowly to her knees and then to her feet, flexing her arms experimentally. 'A bit achy...'

'When I felt achy after training my instructor used to send me to run ten times around the perimeter of the compound,' Yassen told her.

'Did he really?' Roberta asked tightly, twisting her arm to examine her left elbow, which was sporting a nasty graze from the rough concrete. 'Well, he sounds like a nice guy.'

Yassen saw Alex grimace slightly, whether at Roberta's injuries or the reference to his father, he didn't know.

'Ouch,' Roberta muttered again, reaching for her guitar and playing a few chords. 'Great, I can still strum.' She looked back to Yassen. 'Lucky for you I didn't graze my hands.'

Wolf snorted loudly. 'What would  _you_  do to him?' he asked Roberta.

'You'll sleep better not knowing,' she said darkly. 'Sun's come out. Shall we walk back?'

'We are going to talk,' Alex muttered, grabbing her wrist and dragging her towards the door before the others could properly react to her suggestion. Alex heard the sounds of them shifting round, gradually getting themselves together to leave as he pulled Roberta out into the snow.

'Look,' he said as soon as they were out of earshot, 'I know it turned out okay, but just – for my sake – could you  _not_  challenge Yassen to any more death duels, please? It makes me uncomfortable.'

'You worry too much.'

' _I_  worry too much?' Alex spluttered incredulously. 'Roberta, I – do you even  _get_  who he is?'

'Sure I do,' Rob replied, 'but I have a theory.'

Alex petitioned God.

'Well, it's Clara's theory, really,' Roberta continued, 'or at least, she helped me to get it figured out in words. She says it works off of the idea that Yassen is a rational person.'

'A rational assassin,' Alex said, grinding his teeth. 'Oh, this is brilliant.'

'Well, he prides himself on his rationality, anyway. So the point is, if he wanted to kill any one of us, he would do it, and we couldn't stop him.'

'Too right you couldn't. But I'd have to try; I hope you appreciate that, Roberta.'

'Don't call me that. It's teacherish. If he had a reason to kill us, he would, but if he's decided not to kill us, annoying him is not going to change his mind. He’s too high and mighty to kill someone just for pissing him off.’

‘It’d be the same as admitting we’d got to him?’

‘Exactly. So we might as well annoy him as much as we like while we've got the chance.'

Alex was shaking his head slowly, half-laughing as he did so.

'Says Clara,' Roberta added hastily.

'Sometimes I despair of Clara.'

'Hmmm.' Roberta looked back. They had reached the edge of the brush. The others were a way behind them. She stooped, scooped up a handful of snow and squished it into a ball. 'Shall we test her theory?'

Alex stopped dead. 'What are you going to do?' he demanded.

'Put snow down his neck.'

'What, just assuming that he won't kill you for it?'

A snowball whizzed past Roberta's ear and exploded against a tree-trunk ahead of them.

'She is right,' Yassen called. 'I won't. However, I can pay her back in kind.'

He held Roberta's eye for a moment and then smiled: a sweet, boyish smile that was as startling as the blue in his eyes. Roberta felt herself grin in response, suddenly and inexplicably cheerful.

'Shall we call it even?' Yassen asked, stepping forward.

'How is it even? You beat me  _and_  threw a snowball at me.'

'Maybe, but I think your blow will bruise. It's even.'

'Oh, just stop it, both of you!' Alex cried, a touch of desperation in his tone.

'OK, we've stopped,' Roberta soothed, a touch of laughter in her tone. Then she lowered her voice. 'In the meantime, I can see K Unit’s smug asses approaching, and a bunch of our friends. How about we give them a surprise?'

She dropped to her knees and began to scoop up another snowball. Yassen and Alex followed suit, Alex still muttering darkly under his breath, Yassen smiling faintly. Roberta watched how Yassen shaped his snowball, perfectly round and crushed to the hardness of ice. She was glad he'd aimed a little to one side of her head with his last one. She deliberately packed hers a little looser, but tried to copy the spherical shape.

'We strike,' Alex whispered, 'in three – two – one –'

The others appeared through the trees, K Unit in the lead, talking loudly. Alex, Yassen and Rob let fly with their snowballs.

There was a chorus of indignant splutters as the snowballs hit Clara, Eagle and Wolf squarely, spraying the others with broken pieces. Alex stood in plain sight for a moment, laughing uncontrollably at the looks of sheer disbelief on his friends' faces. Then Wolf gave a bellow of rage, Roberta tugged frantically on his sleeve, and the three of them were running.

'Oh, great idea, Rob!' Alex yelled as noises of pursuit started and grew behind them. 'Looks like we've got the whole lot of them crying for our blood!'

A snowball whizzed over their heads. Yassen put on an extra spurt of speed, disappearing through the brush that separated the park from the fields on the other side. Roberta and Alex crashed after him. They found themselves amid the rolling expanse of fields which could be seen from the back of Clara's house and which extended all the way from there to Josh's, criss-crossed with country lanes, hedges and ditches. All of it was white and glittering with snow. Alex was forced to slow up as he came to the crest of a downward slope, and before he could start down it someone slammed into him from behind.

'Gotcha, bruv!' Taylor crowed. Alex cursed in his head; he had forgotten how fast the other boy was over a short distance. His speed toppled them both, the slippery snow offering no purchase to their trainers. Out of the tail of his eye Alex saw Yassen and Roberta skittering to a halt, nearly crashing into one another as he fell across their path. Then he started to roll.

By the time he reached the bottom he was lightheaded, giddy and plastered with snow. He leapt to his feet and nearly fell over again as the world lurched. Everything was sparkling. There was too much light. Alex saw Taylor tumble the last few feet and come to a halt a short distance from where he himself had landed, having apparently let himself roll all the way down on purpose.

'Sorry about that, Alex,' he called, getting up as well. 'Hey, that was fun. Let's do it again!'

'No time!' Roberta yelled. 'The others are going to catch us in, like, thirty seconds.'

'Drats,' Taylor said, dusting himself off. 'Hey guys, can I join your team? It might even up the numbers a bit.'

'A bit,' Roberta said, looking him up and down. As she spoke Yassen waved his arm, gesturing to them to join him. He was crouched on his hands and knees near the top of the slope, peering over the brow.

'They won't see us until the last moment,' he muttered quickly as they joined him. 'When they get close I can spring out and take them by surprise. Make some more snowballs; get ready to cover me.'

'What is this, a tactical defence exercise?' Taylor asked, already rolling snow.

Yassen looked at him sidelong. 'If you like.'

There was a pounding of footsteps on the snow above him, and Yassen struck.

With one powerful thrust of his legs he was over the lip of the hill, colliding with Wolf, who was at the head of the pursuit. The two of them went crashing to the ground with Wolf underneath. The soldier brought his knees up to his chest and snapped them back out, flinging the Russian off him. Yassen rolled and sprang lightly to his feet.

Wolf jumped up with a fierce laugh and charged at him, forcing Yassen to spring aside. Alex crouched at the mouth of the hill, staring transfixed at the two men. He had watched Yassen shoot and knew full well how dangerous he was, but for all that he had never seen the Russian in action before, face to face with a skilled opponent. He watched, mesmerised, as Yassen blocked a blow from the Wolf and then executed the move they had taught Roberta just minutes ago, his leg shooting up with all the flexibility of a ballet dancer’s. But there were many times more power in that kick than there had been in Roberta's, or in the motions of any dancer. It was a blow that could take off a person's head.

He heard gasps and even applause from the other watchers as Wolf dodged the attack and then landed a punch of his own: a glancing blow to the Russian's shoulder. Yassen backed up, moving so lightly that Alex was astonished to see his feet mark the snow. Opposite him Wolf's coiled muscles held all the power of a raging bull.

'Stop!' Clara cried.

Alex hadn't noticed the fight turn ugly, but suddenly it was. Clara was running towards the two fighters now, and even she couldn't have realised how dangerous the situation had become, otherwise she wouldn't have been moving to intervene. She would have been fleeing in the other direction. Wolf charged Yassen again, his eyes full of fire. Yassen grabbed his wrist but Wolf lashed out with his other hand, striking the assassin directly over his bullet wound.

Yassen seemed momentarily to crumple, his face turning grey. Wolf danced backwards out of range, his teeth bared. Yassen straightened himself with a gasp, and for an instant Alex saw murder flashing in his eyes. Then Clara was between them, a hand stretched towards each. Her reproving frown was enough to restore some sanity to the scene, and to mask the brighter fear etched on her face.

'Alright, guys, that's enough,' she said, and that did the rest. The moment was broken. The two men relaxed.

'Yeah, that's enough.' Alex found that his legs had carried him forward without conscious decision. He echoed Clara, pushing between Yassen and Wolf as he did so, eager to dilute their focus on Clara. This was still too tense a scene for her to be in the middle of it, and he nudged her gently away with one hand as he spoke.

Yassen drew a long breath, then spoke to Wolf. 'I think I came a little close with that kick,' he remarked, his voice growing more casual with each word.

Wolf hesitated for a moment, drawing a hand slowly across his mouth, and then gave a sudden burst of laugher.

'A little close,' he agreed. He reached down to rub his side where Yassen had first crashed into him. ‘Damn, that smarts. You can hit hard, Gregorovich.'

Alex fancied he heard the whoosh as every person watching let out their breath. There was the crunch of footsteps as their circle collapsed in on itself, all of them crowding into the middle where the fight had taken place, blinking, tasting the adrenaline fresh on the air.

'Come on, people,' Eagle said, stepping forward and laying one hand on Wolf's shoulder and the other on Yassen's. Alex saw the Russian flinch infinitesimally away from the touch. 'If we can get home without any fatalities we'll count the day a success, yeah?'

The statement sparked general amusement, with even Yassen forcing a laugh, and the group turned and began to make its way home.

It was only lunchtime when they trooped into Clara's living room, but Alex already felt as though a whole day had passed. It was partly the walk, of course: three miles across country from Josh's house to Clara's, but he knew that it was also the tension getting to him. A rush of adrenaline always left one feeling tired. He flung himself down into an armchair as the others crowded in, breathing heavily and shaking the snow out of their clothes.

Yassen disappeared in the direction of the kitchen, and Clara knelt and began rummaging in a cupboard.

'So if you guys are staying over,' she called, her voice slightly muffled due to the fact that her head was sticking into the storage space, 'I'll need to put out some air beds...Alex, do you have any bedding for the boys over at your place?'

'We've got two couches in the living room, they can sleep on those.' Alex turned and cast a speculative eye over Taylor. 'Might be a bit short...'

'Kick someone who's not so tall out of their bed and let him have in.'

'Oh, no,' Fox said, poking Clara to make her come out of the cupboard and listen. 'I am  _not_  sleeping on a couch. My colleagues and I are here for your protection and it's essential that we're well-rested.'

Clara tutted loudly. 'Oh sure, my protection. Well, you're not doing a terribly good job of it, are you?' She gestured towards Yassen, who had just re-emerged holding a glass. 'I mean, he wanders into the kitchen and makes himself coffee!'

'Orange juice, actually,' Yassen corrected, showing her the glass. 'I try to avoid consuming caffeine.'

Clara rolled her eyes. 'Why am I not surprised?'

'Clara, don't be mean to Fox  _or_  Yassen,' Alex said, taking her by the shoulders and pulling her away from Yassen. He turned and addressed the Russian himself. 'If you don't mind my asking, what's with your freakily good mood today? Apart from the whole nearly killing Wolf thing, of course.'

'Which could just be taken for a sign of high spirits, really,' Eagle quipped, earning himself a kick from Wolf. How quickly they had all made themselves forget the tension of the moment, Alex reflected, that they were so comfortable now!

'I am close to a breakthrough with my research on Scorpia,' Yassen answered. 'I think I may have a lead; I believe I have discovered where Scorpia has its neurological research facility, and if I can pin down the location, I can find out what I need to know there.'

The speech was delivered blandly enough, so why did it bring on a rush of emotions which he didn't understand? Was he simply glad that the Russian might soon be off their hands, disappearing back into his world on his shady quest for answers? No, it wasn’t relief he was feeling. But he had to play his part.

'So I'm guessing you won't be bothering us for much longer then,' he said coolly.

Yassen's face was inscrutable. 'I will be leaving as soon as I have the information I need,' he said.

'Well,' Wolf remarked, 'that's efficiency! What do you think you need to do next? Or is that top secret?' Yassen turned with an enigmatic answer and the others leaned in, tuning into the conversation which had begun to grow. Alex frowned at the atmosphere of the room. Nobody had wished Yassen luck, but somehow it felt as though that was what they were doing. Good luck and goodbye. He turned away, glancing across the room, and saw that one person was not joining in the conversation. Roberta was sitting , her chin on one hand, the other curled loosely round the neck of her guitar. Her fingers shifted on the strings, forming the ghosts of chords. Her eyes were cast down, unblinking, deep in thought, and her expression disturbed Alex. Was she only mulling over all the ways this could still go wrong for them? Was she disappointed that their part in this adventure looked like being over before it had got truly interesting? Or was she regretful that Yassen was leaving so soon, when they had barely begun to know him? For himself, Alex knew that it was all three.


	25. Moonlight

 

Yassen woke sharply and silently. It was as though a little bell had chimed inside his head, prodding him into consciousness. For a moment he lay still, listening intently, trying to ascertain whether it was any danger that had woken him, or whether it was just his restless instincts telling him that five hours was plenty of sleep. When his ears met nothing but silence he rose and walked to the window, pulling back the drapes with a sharp rattle or curtain rings.

The English fields stretched away to the horizon, smoothed and softened with snow. A full moon was sailing in the sky, turning its velvety blackness to navy, bright enough to hurt the eyes. The snow caught every ray of light that hit it and reflected it back up, so that the ground glimmered dully. The whole landscape was reduced to monochrome, tiger-striped black and silver.

The scene made him even more restless than before. Every night in this house he had gone to sleep late and woken early, and been unable to do more than listen to classical music on his i-pod or do very quiet push-ups to fill the time. But now he determined that he  _would_  get out of the house. He hesitated, his senses tasting the atmosphere. He fancied that he could even hear the breathing of the two boys, Josh and Taylor, sleeping on the sofa downstairs, and for a moment a novel idea came to him: he might go and wake Josh and suggest that he sketch the view. But Yassen quashed it. His feet were tingling, his breath speeding up. He wanted to be out in the snow, not to share it with anyone. Now, how to get out of the house, past those blundering soldiers.

He glided to his door and pulled it shut, sealing his room from the outside world. Then he opened the window. Cold air and the sound of the night rushed in. He grasped the frame and eased himself out, feet first, crouching on the sill and pulling it almost closed behind him. Then he lowered himself until he was hanging from the sill by his fingertips, and let go.

He landed the ground on his side, spreading the impact over his body. The snow muffled his landing perfectly. It was still soft and fresh, a fine, dry powder that sprayed up at the impact. He sprang up, only a little winded, and began to jump up and down to shake it off, wondering belatedly how he was going to get back into the house. Walk up to the front door and knock, probably, which meant that K Unit would find out after all. But no matter. By then Yassen would have had his walk in the snow.

Walk? Why not make it a run?

He stepped away from the side of the house, turning a full circle as he moved, face tilted up to the sky. Stars bloomed on the edge of his vision, then shrank into bright pricks of silver when he focussed his eyes on them. The sky was almost perfectly clear, just a few greenish wisps of cloud drifting across the face of the moon. Yassen sucked in a blazing cold breath, balanced for a moment on the balls of his feet, and began to run.

He cleared the back fence in one bound and struck out into the first field, scuds of snow kicking up at his heels. The ground beneath the snow was ploughed, uneven, but he negotiated it without pause, his breath flowing steadily in and out. Fixing his eyes ahead, he saw the first field boundary already hurtling towards him: a shallow ditch, freckled with exposed earth. He took a flying leap and jumped it easily, skidding a little on the landing but recovering without breaking stride. The landscape all around him was flat, white, endless. Anyone taking a shot at his black, exposed figure, clear-cut against the snow, would have had an easy time of it, but he didn't care. He felt that nobody could sneak up on him tonight. The cold was setting his instincts spinning, honing his vision to razor sharpness. And besides, one couldn't worry about that sort of thing all the time. He threw back his head, letting the wind of his passage caress his cheeks. If you hid all the time in the shadows they started to cling to you. They made it difficult to breathe.

He came to a thick hedge, smothered in snow, and halted. There was a gate at the end of the field, but he noticed a gap in the branches right in front of him and dived through on his stomach. The bare earth beneath the hedge was frozen solid, and cold against his skin, but a core of heat from the run kept him warm on the inside. He dug his elbows into the ground, hauling himself forward until he could see out the other side.

The next field was not empty.

Lying completely still in the shadow of the hedge, Yassen held his breath, taking in the towering figure that threw a hard black shadow across the snow. But it was no enemy, no surgically enhanced Scorpia agent. He recognised the defensive, defiant stance, the statuesque figure and mane of dark hair. A slight breeze lifted it in tangled-together sections, and skimmed flecks of snow into his eyes. He ignored them, continuing to stare at the girl in the snow.

Roberta gave a deep sigh and pushed her hair off her face, turning her head a little so that he could see her profile, picked out and silvered by the moon. A profile to make Julia Rothman envious, indeed. But its owner looked vulnerable. She was shivering slightly, her head bowed, arms wrapped round herself. No coat. She shifted her weight, boots crunching in the snow.

Slowly Yassen rose to his hands and knees, then into a crouch, then to his feet. He took a noiseless step forward. He was on the leeward side of the hedge now, and the ground around him was bare; no grinding snow to give him away. Another step. Now he was standing clear of the shadow of the hedge, behind Roberta and a little to her right, the moon shining on them both. He took a step breath and placed one foot deliberately into the snow.

Roberta whirled around with a stifled shriek. For a moment they stared at one another. Roberta’s face was rigid with shock, but although she was clearly frightened to find herself alone with him, she kept it well in check. Then Yassen held out a placating hand, circling slowly forward and around until he stood beside her, at an acceptable distance to her right. He turned, looking out over the landscape she had been perusing, and said:

'A beautiful night.'

She nodded awkwardly and faced out as well, but he could feel her eyes riveted sidelong on his face. She was still tense, like an animal poised to bolt.

'I think it was the moonlight that woke me,' he continued reassuringly. 'It is incredibly bright. And it seemed a shame to just go back to bed.

'Is Russia like this?' Roberta blurted suddenly, with the air of someone flailing for a topic of conversation. She looked mortified as soon as the words were out of her mouth, and Yassen blinked in well-concealed surprise. Was she really worried about upsetting him with questions of his childhood? His life just kept getting more surreal.

'Well, it’s a big – ’ he began, and then suddenly backtracked, realising that he didn’t want her to feel that she’d asked a stupid question. ‘Not very much like this,' he went on lightly. 'If I went out this thinly clad –' he gestured at his light shirt – 'I would freeze to death. The snow is deeper. But the sky is the same.'

'From what I've heard, the sky stays pretty similar all over.' She was getting a little of her gratuitous streak back, growing more confident. 'Except when there's clouds across it and stuff.'

'The sky is very clear in Russia.' Yassen gestured up at the sky, spangled with almost dazzling brightness. 'Like tonight. Normally, in England, one does not see so many stars.'

'Fog,' Roberta muttered. She drummed her fingers edgily against her thigh, shifting her weight from foot to foot. It was very seldom that she had to have a conversation with someone without a guitar across her lap, forming a barrier and a distraction. She glanced at Yassen, whose shirt clung to him a little and stopped well short of the elbow, and asked:

'Yassen, aren't you freezing? I mean –' She jerked her head back, tutting in exasperation. 'Not  _freezing,_ obviously, but aren't you very cold?’

'It is colder in Russia,' Yassen replied, with a hint of amusement in his tone. 'We have been through this.

'Hmph. Still, below zero is below zero.' Roberta stooped for a handful of snow, squished it into a snowball and threw it over-arm. They watched it arc away down the hill and thud into the blanket of snow, leaving a scuff and a hole.

Roberta shrugged, thrust her hands into the pockets of her jeans and began to walk. Yassen fell into step beside her and offered her his arm. She gave him a look that said very clearly, ' _okaaaaay?_ ' but tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow all the same. They paced in time with each other down the gentle slope of the field, their feet crunching rhythmically in the snow. Yassen was a fast walker, but Roberta's legs were so long that he didn't have to shorten his stride to match hers. He wondered what K unit would make of the double set of footprints in the morning.

'One doesn't usually see heavy snow before the end of the year,' he remarked.

'It's all because of global warming really,' Roberta said, scuffing up snow. ‘They explain it in geography at school. Or at least, Clara says they explain it. I couldn't swear to it myself.' Yassen gave a faint grin at that. Roberta decided that it was surprisingly easy to talk to him, all things considered. She examined his face closely as they walked, and he didn't seem to mind. A gust of wind puffed down her neck and she hunched her shoulders.

'Dammit, it's cold!'

'If you don't object, we could run,' Yassen suggested. 'That's how I kept warm on the way out.' He waited for her approval, and Roberta was sure, considering the whole arm-offering thing, that he would have offered her his coat had he been wearing one. It was all a bit much to get her head around.

'What is it?' he asked, seeing her expression.

'I was just thinking about how weird it is that you’re a chivalrous assassin.’

He laughed at that and extricated his arm, catching hold of her hand. Then he sprang into a run, pulling her along with him.

Why hadn't she thought of running before? She had been brooding, that was what. But the freezing air whipping past her face and the boundless glitter of the landscape turned it to exhilaration, though time and again she nearly turned her ankle in the treacherous sod of the field. Yassen's hand was steady as a rock in hers, holding her upright at every bump. He was adjusting his speed to let her keep up, but she could see the power of his muscles, ready to drive him forward if he chose. After a couple of minutes she pulled her hand out of his and fell behind to watch him do just that.

Unchecked by her he bounded forwards, moving with an inherent, effortless grace. He seemed perfectly suited to the scene, like a snow leopard or a white tiger, lethal and in his element. She felt, not inferior exactly – she gave a slight grin, slowing to a jog. No, not inferior, but a little wrong-footed, a hotter, darker figure in his world of snow and ice. And yet...she also felt at ease. There was no need to feel ashamed or defensive in front of him; he had done worse things than her, after all, and couldn't care less what drugs she took.

Yassen reached a fallen log, with a couple of trees clustering behind it, and sprang easily over it, hardly altering his stride. She followed him, speeding up to make the jump, and then slowed to a walk on the other side.

Yassen turned back towards her and skittered to a halt, his breath clouding in the air. He waited while she walked towards him, then turned and made his way over to the tree their log had come from. Its branches were bare, but they'd left a couple of patches of ground bare of snow, and dry enough to sit on. Yassen settled himself with his back to the trunk, one leg bent and the other crossed beneath it, his elbow resting on his knee. It was a breathtaking pose. Roberta flopped down beside him and lay with her hands behind her head, bizarrely hot and cold from her run. Her jacket protected her from the worst of the snow, but she could feel it beginning to melt slowly into her jeans.

'Much warmer,' she panted, unzipping her jacket a little. Yassen didn't reply, but she sensed his smile. She craned her head around, ice crystals scraping her cheek, to look at him. Bathed in moonlight and threaded with the shadows of branches, his face took on an ethereal quality, eyes eider-grey, alabaster skin almost glowing. She blinked; the whiteness was playing tricks on her eyes, purple spots blooming in the darkness. She reached out and touched his cheek, trying to focus her eyes.

Yassen didn't move or speak. He stared unwaveringly at the snow around his feet as she ran her fingers down the side of his face, resting her knuckles under his jaw and tilting his head towards the light. But when the tip of one of her fingers touched his lip, he looked sharply into her eyes, because as far as he could remember the last creature that had touched him there had been a black widow spider.

A corner of his mind informed him that if he were following the correct protocol, he ought to give some kind of reaction now. How was she to know that he was examining her just as minutely as she was him, but that, being used to living cut off from the world, he didn't need to touch as she did? How was she to know that looking was enough?

Roberta sat up with an intake of breath and a rustle of fabric, her hand relaxing, forming to the side of his face. Her strong features cast deep pools of shadow on her face, and suddenly he realised that he didn't want the darkness in her mind to claim her. For himself he had no regrets, but for her...there was genius in the way her fingers ripped across that shrieking guitar of hers, churning out chords and de-fusing bombs. She was special, she could go far, but her brand of darkness was the kind that dragged downwards and destroyed.

 _And your darkness didn't destroy you?_  a voice in his head inquired.  _Are you really a fine-tuned predator, or are you just sad?_  The voice took on an adolescent twang at the end, sounding almost like Alex in one of his more teenager-ish moments.

'I don't know,' he murmured out loud.

'Huh?'

Yassen met Roberta's eyes. He took her hand and pried it gently away from his face. It was icy cold, so he folded it in both his own and rested them on his knee. She regarded the arrangement for a moment, then leaned forward and kissed him.

His lips were like snowflakes, but they didn't melt away at her touch. Theirs was a sterner cold than that, a deeper cold. Roberta shuddered, seized by a sudden and irrational panic. She wanted to reach inside him, to tear out his frozen heart and force it to beat again before it was too late, but all she could do was crush her mouth harder to his, grasping the back of his neck to bring him closer to the warmth she was trying to breath into him –

Yassen brought his arms up, breaking her hold with a single twist. His hand gripped her wrist for a moment, then let go.

 _Don't grab him round the neck_ , she realised. _Idiot._

'Yassen, do you feel?' she asked in clinical tones. Hopefully if she could get to the grim facts, the panicky parts of her brain would shut up.

'Yes,' he answered.

'What do you feel for me?'

'Nothing.'

'Well, that's unusual for a guy,' she said wryly. 'You don't bat for the other side, do you?'

'You make the most basic assumptions,' he snapped.

'Sorry. I'm taking A level psychology, you see, so I'm naturally curious.' Her eyes slid down the side of his neck. 'Will you tell me how you got that scar?'

'No,' he said shortly. 'It's a long story and I'm cold.' He stood up with a quick thrust of his legs and paused, choosing his next words carefully. 'You should stay away from me.' The less infatuated she let herself become, the better for her.

'I was away from you,' she pointed out, standing up as well. 'I was out of the house, I was as far away from you as I could get.'

'True.' He sucked his cheeks in thoughtfully, then looked her straight in the eye. 'I'm not looking for love, Roberta, and I'm not looking for sex either.'

As he spoke the last words he saw her blanch for an instant before she masked it with fury. So he had struck a nerve.

Good.

She turned away from him, dry-eyed and erect, and began to walk back towards the house, too proud and too realistic to try to out-pace him at a run. He gave her a head start and then followed, placing his feet exactly into her footprints to slow himself down further.

When he arrived back on the street Clara's house was as silent and still as if nobody had ever left it. He stared up at K unit's house for a moment, wondering how he was going to get inside, then walked around to the back door, which led into the living room. Through the glass in the door he could see the lumpy forms of the two boys, Josh and Taylor, sleeping on the sofas. On the fence beside him a few trellises were nailed, though MI6 hadn’t gone as far as maintaining the climbing plants; they held only a few dead leaves. He untwisted a bit of wire that had been used to hold up the plants, jimmied it into the lock, and in a minute had the back door open.

He could tell immediately from the boys’ breathing that one of them had been woken, and so he didn’t startle when Taylor’s voice said groggily,

‘Yassen? Wassup?’

‘I came down for some water,’ Yassen said softly. ‘Go back to sleep.’

‘Mph.’ Taylor must only have been half-awake, because he rolled over without argument, and in another moment his breathing had evened out again. Yassen quietly returned to his bedroom. He pulled the curtains tightly to shut out the moonlight, rolled himself in his blankets to ward off the chill of the snow, pushed all thought to the back of his mind, and slept.

 


	26. Stolen

Yassen was used to sleeping short hours, but he felt the disrupted night when he woke up. He felt disoriented, and stiff in his muscles. The run was nothing he couldn't handle, but tension was tiring, and he knew he had been tense last night – for the last several nights. His chest ached. He lay on his back for a moment, stretched as hard as he could and groaned, then rolled out of bed and made his way downstairs.

The living room was empty, with only a nest of rumpled blankets on the sofas showing where Josh and Taylor had spent the night. The boys must already have gone over to Clara's house. He could hear members of K Unit clunking about in the kitchen, but feeling in no mood to contend with them he slipped straight out of the house and round to Clara's. The sky was grey and clouded now, and the temperature had risen. A hard, greyish crust had formed on the snow, which was pocked with holes near the trees and beneath the hedge, where meltwater had dripped into it from the leaves above. When he knocked at the door, Jane answered it and greeted him with a rather terse, 'you-and-me-against-a-world-gone-mad' kind of smile.

'Morning, Yassen,' she said, then jerked her head towards the living room. 'It's a bit bonkers in there. Good luck.'

Yassen entered the room, bracing himself, but Roberta was nowhere to be seen. Alex and Clara, the only two people in the room, did not look as though they were about to set on him for ill treatment of their friend. In fact, they didn't look as though they knew anything was amiss at all. Clara was wearing an expression of extreme irritation, but it didn't seem to be directed at him, and Alex, lounging on the sofa beside her with a cushion clasped in his arms, looked positively smug.

'Morning, Yassen,' Clara greeted him. Alex thumped her hard over the head with the cushion. Clara said, ' _ow!'_ and Yassen said, 'huh?'

'I'm conditioning her not to speak out of turn,' Alex explained with a smirk. 'It doesn't really seem to be working as of yet, but I'm sure we'll get there eventually.'

'Alex,' Clara said, 'I think you have been exposed to too many evil – oof!' She cut off with a splutter as Alex hit her again.

'Ya see what I mean?' Alex said, turning to Yassen. 'She is just physically incapable of shutting up.'

'I see.'

'Look,' Clara said wearily, rubbing her head, 'can you at least explain to me what kind of situation counts as "out of turn"? Just so I know?'

'It's out of turn whenever I think it's out of turn,' Alex replied. 'Oh yeah.' And he hit her with the cushion again.

'Alex...' Yassen began.

'If you're going to give me a lesson on tact and diplomacy, save your breath,' Alex interrupted. 'I don't take lectures from hypocritical assassins.'

'Assassins find use for tact and diplomacy from time to time, just like other people,' Yassen said.

'Oh, whatever,' Alex muttered, whacking Clara with the cushion.

' _What?_ ' she erupted. 'I did not speak!'

'Nah, I just felt like hitting you that time.'

Clara launched herself across the sofa and began to beat with her fists at Alex, who curled up into a ball and held the cushion over his head, laughing. Yassen was just thinking that his training hadn't prepared him for this and wondering whether he ought to try separating them when Taylor appeared at his shoulder, hauled Clara away, removed the cushion from Alex's grasp and disappeared off to the piano to work on a sheaf of music, all without saying a word.

'Wow,' Clara said after a short pause. 'That boy should be a global force for peace.'

'I suppose it was a lost cause, really. The whole getting you to shut up thing,' Alex sighed, stretching out on his back and extending his legs until Clara was squished up to the very end of the sofa.

'Alex, why are you in such an annoying mood today?' she asked. 'You're not your usual sweet self at all.'

Alex shot a conspiratorial look at Yassen from beneath his lashes and then stared innocently at Clara. 'I don't know. Maybe because I'm happy?'

'Happy? That's random.'

'Isn't it just? I reckon I've descended into the well of despair and come out the other side. I appreciate little things...' He traced a hand in a slow arc through the air, then let it fall back and began to shake. It took the other two a few seconds to realise that he was laughing his head off.

'Poor hysterical Rider-frog,' Clara said affectionately, ruffling his hair and standing up. 'Where's Rob? She ought to be up by now.'

‘She hasn’t been downstairs yet?' Yassen asked.

'Nuh-uh, I haven't seen her yet this morning. She should be up, it's not like she was out drinking last night or anything...unless there's something she hasn't told me about.'

She vanished and they heard her yelling up the stairs:

'Ro _ber_ ta! If you don't get up  _now_  I'm not making your breakfast.'

'The sad thing,' Jane said as Clara returned to the living room, 'is that she knows you will. Because she doesn't normally bother with breakfast, but she knows you don't approve of skipping it and will get her some to make sure she eats it.'

'Ugh, I know, but what can you say,' Clara groaned, flopping onto the sofa and sitting on Alex's feet. 'Am I squishing you, Rider-frog? Tough. You shouldn't hog room like that.'

'What are you all yelling about over there?' Taylor called from the piano. ‘ _I’m trying to work.’_

'Roberta won't get up,' Clara answered.

'She'll be up like a shot if I go and jump on her,' Taylor said, getting up and exiting the room. They heard him pounding up the stairs, followed by the sound of a door creaking open.

'Oh, she'll be  _mad,_ ' Clara murmured. 'Three, two, one...'

Silence.

And then footsteps, thundering along the landing, jumping every other stair and landing heavily in the hall. The door flew open and Taylor burst in.

'Rob's not there!' he yelled.

Alex shot upright. 'She's  _what?_ '

'Nothing there but bedclothes. Completely cold.'

'Were her clothes still there?' Alex asked, in a tone that didn't exactly chill Yassen, but struck him just the same. It was the voice of the agent, cool, cutting, authoritative. Not the kind of voice a child his age should have.

'I didn't look.'

'Right.' Alex stood. 'Where's Josh?'

'Outside,' Jane said in a cowed voice.

'Someone get him. We should tell K Unit –'

'Wait,' Yassen cut in. 'There is no need to panic yet.'

'What is it?' Alex's voice was terse. He sat poised on the edge of the couch, straining for action.

'Last night,' Yassen said evenly, 'I was walking in the snow by myself. I met Roberta outside, and we talked. I think I may have upset her. So I would guess that she simply wished to be alone for a while, and that that is why we cannot find her now.'

There was a silence as the others digested this statement. Yassen could guess that they were grappling with the idea of him and Roberta walking on their own in itself, trying to make their minds put it aside until they had sorted out the issue of where their friend was. Finally Clara sat back with a shaky laugh.

'Well, I guess...that explains it then, probably, though really! Disappearing off like that without telling us where she's going, when we're all so tense and strung up anyway. Typical.' She pushed herself off the sofa and made her way into the hall. 'I'm going to ring her up anyway, just to make sure, you know, that...' She tailed off. None of them wanted to voice that.

Yassen got up as well.

'Where are you going?' Alex demanded.

'Outside for some air,' he returned shortly.

'Could you take Josh his coat then, please?' Jane asked. 'He's been out there since we got up, drawing, and I'm worried he'll freeze. It's the big black one on the pegs in the hall.'

There were in fact three black coats on the pegs, one for each of the boys. Teenage boys didn't seem to wear anything apart from black. Yassen chose the one that looked best fitted to Josh's short, broad-chested build and carried it out with him.

Josh was standing at the edge of the lawn with his sketchbook, deeply absorbed in some withered heads of lilac blossom, capped with greyish, melting snow. Watching him, Yassen was no longer sorry that he had left him out of the brilliant moonscape of the night before. Josh would probably get more enjoyment out of capturing these dismal flowers. Yassen could imagine exactly how he would mutter:  _'Christmas cards. It'll turn into a Christmas card scene no matter what I do with it._ _’_

Or words to that effect, anyway. Yassen amused himself by creeping up behind him as quietly as he could, planting his feet in the small patches where green grass was showing through the snow. When he was an arm's length away, he reached out and touched Josh on the shoulder. Josh greeted him nonchalantly enough, but Yassen knew it for an act. He had felt the boy jump, and violently too.

'Jane asked me to bring you your coat,' he said.

'Oh, thanks,' Josh replied, taking it. 'Could you hold this while I put it on?' He handed Yassen his sketch pad.

'I think you ought to darken the lines here,' Yassen said, pointing at the sketch as Josh shrugged his way into his coat. 'It will help to bring these flower heads into the foreground.'

'Hey, do I tell you how to do your job?' Josh murmured.

Yassen looked up sharply. Josh's silver eyes held his for a moment, and then Josh grinned.

'Good advice,' he said, taking back the pad. He was wearing a grey metal stud through his eyebrow this morning, and it winked dully as he turned back to the bushes, sucking meditatively on the tip of his pencil as he considered their shape. There was a little grey line on his lower lip where the lead had rubbed.

Yassen watched over his shoulder for a moment and then walked slowly back across the lawn, until he came to the path that led up to the front door. The snow was half-melted, and the boys had trampled it as they made their way up the path in the morning, but he could still make out the prints Roberta had left, returning to the house after their walk. He recognised the pattern on the soles of her boots, a grid of little squares stamped into the snow. He didn't recall paying any particular attention to it the night before, but some part of his brain must have noted it and stored it away, to be remembered now. He felt satisfied with himself. He was still payingattention.

He set his foot carefully in her first print and walked in them, all the way up the path to where the roof of the porch jutted out, and the ground was clear. Then he stopped, staring down at his shoes, thinking.

The front door opened.

'Guys!' Clara called. She was standing on the front step, her mobile phone clasped in her hand, face white as chalk. 'I can't get hold of her. I've called her landline  _and_  her mobile, and it just keeps saying, _signal not found._

'What!' Alex barked, stock-still behind her. Sounds came from inside the house, clatters, footsteps, cries of shock.

Yassen stood perfectly still, letting it all flow around him. His eyes were still on the footprints in the snow. As he walked he had noted the distance between him, and the gap between the last print and the point where the snow stopped was longer than Roberta's stride.

There was no suggestion of a struggle in the snow around, no mark but the footprints. And yet she had clearly never finished that walk up the path. It was as though she had been plucked straight up into the air.


	27. Following

The house was full of a shocked, ringing silence. Yassen was sitting in an armchair in the living-room, trying to feign indifference to the atmosphere. Around him, the Non-Conformists were clustered, each dealing with the tension in their own way: Clara pacing, Jane glancing around as though looking for someone to scream at, Josh entirely still except for his drumming fingers. Taylor was looking between his friends, clearly wondering what he could say to comfort them. Alex he knew to be outside, watching K Unit as they examined the area for clues, glaring at them as though daring them to make a slack job of it. Clara sighed, dropped into the chair next to Yassen and buried her face in her hands. She couldn't remain in that pose for long, though, any more than any other, and sat up again, jiggling her knee. She was tense, but for once it wasn't because of him. He felt almost irrelevant in this scene; they no longer had any fear to spare for him, and they saw no reason to include him in their anxiety.

There was a tramping of feet in the hall and Alex entered the room, shivering, his cheeks and nose bright pink with cold. K Unit followed. Wolf waited until they were all assembled in the room, and then spoke.

'We've made a thorough examination of the area, and, like Gregorovich said, it's clear that Roberta's footprints don't reach the door. But there's no sign of any others, no sign that she turned around and backtracked, no tracks from an unexplained vehicle.'

'Nothing?' Yassen asked, staring steadily at Wolf.

Wolf frowned. 'Maybe...no.'

Alex's face contorted. ' _Damn!_ ' He spun and lashed out at the wall with both fists, then staggered back, teeth clenching in real pain. He collapsed onto the sofa between Josh and Taylor, running a hand distractedly through his hair. 'This is my fault.'

'No,' Clara said in a low, flat voice. 'No, Alex, it's not yours.'

'They'd have given up by now if I wasn't involved.'

'If you weren't involved I'd probably be dead,' Clara said. 'If it's anybody's  _stupid_  fault...' She made gestured with her fist, grimacing. '...it's mine. That bloody poetry...but I didn't think it was that contentious, I just...' She rubbed her fingers over her eyes, and they came away wet.

'But  _where?_ ' Alex jumped up and began to pace. ' _Where_ did they take her? The only motive that makes sense is to try and make us come after her – use her as bait. So she must be somewhere where we're supposed to be able to find her. But how did they take her away like this? With no tracks? Without anybody hearing anything? How the  _hell_...?'

'No tracks?' Yassen said. Silence fell. All eyes turned to him.

He looked to Wolf again. 'Just a moment ago, you said, "maybe." Maybe what? What is it that you saw? Any little thing may be important.'

'Well...' Wolf paused and frowned. 'The snow looked a little disturbed around the footprints. As though a strong wind had blown over it. It was frozen into ridges. But how...' He stopped. Yassen had nodded.

'Ah,' he said. 'I think I begin to see.'

'What?' Eagle demanded. 'What is it?'

'I think I can understand the method by which Roberta was snatched,' he said, enjoying, just a little, the feeling of having them hanging onto his every word. ‘Recently, Scorpia have been researching new forms of stealth transport, and they developed a new vehicle. We call it a hoverboard.'

It was really rather amusing, the way every jaw in the room dropped simultaneously. He supposed it did sound rather fantastic, as one's mind wrapped around what the name must mean. Wolf was the first to recover – from his expression it was clear that he was furious at having reacted that way, and was going to take it out on Yassen.

'Are you trying to be  _funny_?' he spluttered.

'Not at all.' Yassen could have laughed at the reaction, but he realised that given the current mood it would hardly be appropriate. He needed to keep them on-side – well, as much as an assassin could.

'These are not science fiction, Wolf,' he said. 'I assisted in their development myself, test-riding prototypes. When Ash attempted to kill me, just before I came to you, I escaped on one. They are very real, and they work.'

'And do they...' Eagle began hesitantly, 'you know... _hover_?'

Yassen nodded. 'Like skateboarding in mid-air.'

'Wow,' Eagle murmured, shaking his head.

Yassen nodded once. 'Yes. But here is the point. These boards fly using rotor-blades similar to those used in helicopters – only with the blades rotating vertically rather than horizontally, of course. The disturbance that you described in the snow may well have been caused by a low-flying board. A rider could have approached almost soundlessly – the boards make only a soft hum when ridden gently, or one can cut the engine and glide – skimmed low, and snatched Roberta off the ground as she approached the house. And then they would be able to escape without leaving any tracks. Take her to a van a mile away and drive. And even I, out walking in the field, would never have heard a thing.'

You could have heard a pin drop in the room. Their wide eyes were fixed on his face. Yassen kept his expression neutral, leaning a little towards concerned. This was perfect. They were all listening, waiting for him to tell them.

'So we know, then, that Scorpia took her,' Alex said. His voice sounded a little rough, a little high, but his words were clear and rational. Yassen knew he would have to watch him, whatever he said next. 'You explanation sounds plausible,' he said to Yassen. 'We know how they took her. But does it give us any clues as to where she might be now? You're the only one who has inside knowledge of Scorpia. Do you have any ideas?'

Yassen let out a tiny breath. It was the best question Alex could possibly have asked.

'Yes,' he said. 'The hoverboards are experimental aircraft. Now, Scorpia has mainly administrative offices in the United Kingdom. We prefer to conduct our other activities – training, weapons development and so on – abroad, in places where the authorities are more likely to turn a blind eye. But there is one experimental facility – up north, in Scotland. It's where we did most of the test-flying for the hoverboards, and it's inconspicuous, out of the way. It seems to me that it would be the perfect place to hold Roberta.'

'Scotland?' Alex was still sceptical. 'That's a long way to take her.'

Yassen shrugged. 'Not so very long. They could easily be half-way around the world by now, but I have a hunch.'

'I see.' Alex sighed, biting his lip. 'I think...that it would be better to check this place out first, rather than going jetting off to unknown locations all around the world.'

'Scotland for aye, laddie,' Eagle said in an exaggerated accent, slapping Snake on the shoulder.

'They'll be expecting us to try something, I'm sure...well, we'll just have to be very careful,' Alex said. He turned to K Unit. 'You have experience of assignments like this?'

'I helped spring those kids from Point Blanc, Cub,' Wolf reminded him. 'This is right up my street. But that time we knew the layout of the building. We had you.'

'Well,' Alex shrugged, 'we've got Yassen.'

'Gregorovich.' Wolf glanced at Yassen, who was sitting serenely in his armchair. 'Great.'

Yassen kept his face impassive, but a slow, controlled bubble of triumph was rising inside him. It was reasonably likely that the girl was being held where he had said she was, but that wasn't the main reason for his suggestion. According to the research he had been conducting over the past days, hacking into the Scorpia databases via the internet, this facility in Scotland was where the operation that had transformed Ash had been developed and conducted. The site stored equipment, instructions, and data on all the research that had gone into developing the operation. If the information he needed to find out what was causing his strange flashbacks, and what Ash's cryptic statement about  _prototypes_  had meant, was anywhere, it would be there. And with Alex Rider and a crack SAS unit to watch his back, he could find out everything he needed to know.

*     *     *

'Don't forget,' Clara said, 'that we're heading north.'

'So?' Alex said rather breathlessly, as he slung the last holdall into the car boot and slammed it shut.

'I just wanted to make sure that you'd all packed for cold weather,' Clara said. 'Not just skinny jeans as opposed to shorts; I'm talking coats.'

Jane rolled her eyes. 'Of  _course_  we've packed properly, Clara. Stop fussing. Roberta –' She cut off for a moment, then continued. ' _Roberta_  is the only one who thinks fishnet tights in the snow are a good idea.'

'Yeah, but you do wear skinny jeans a lot.'

'Whatever.' Jane swung her rucksack over the open top of the car and plonked it on the back seat. 'I've packed an anorak. And speaking of keeping warm – have you considered that your car is a convertible?'

Clara grinned in a  _touché_ sort of way. 'Yes. I'll put the hood up. But I'm not relishing the prospect.'

It was about four o'clock in the afternoon – the time it had taken, since they had discovered Roberta's disappearance, to check out road maps, pack clothes and perform a google search for bed and breakfasts – and it was almost dark, the sky a deep shade of blue that made your vision blur when you stared up at it for too long. Clara, Alex and Jane had just finished loading their bags into Clara's car, and now they made their way back up to the house, squinting through the gloaming and scuffing their shoes carefully across the ground in front of them, searching for ice. They entered the house and headed into the living room, where Josh, Taylor, Yassen and K Unit were sitting waiting, with rucksacks between their knees and coats zipped up to the neck.

Alex wasn't entirely sure why the Non-Conformists were coming. He knew that they could do less than nothing to help; in any battle or hostage situation they would only get in the way. And yet from the moment Yassen had said Roberta was in Scotland, all of them had seemed to assume that they were coming, and he hadn't had the heart to tell them to stay behind. Why was it? Because with them he felt accepted and equal, and didn't want to set them apart and treat them like children, the way he himself had been treated so many times? Because, even now, he felt that they somehow had more  _right_  to rescue Roberta than he did? They had all known one another long before he came on the scene, after all, even if it had been his arrival that had drawn them all together. And they were the musicians, the social outcasts, the weirdoes-and-proud-of-it. If it hadn't been for MI6, he wouldn't have been a part of them at all.

So what right did he have to tell them to stay behind?

There were ten of them, and eleven seats – four in Clara's car and seven in the monstrous jeep. So, as Clara had pointed out, there'd be a spare seat for Rob when they found her.

Alex's stomach was twisting with nerves. To walk deliberately into unknown danger on this dark December night...he shivered, and then realised that Yassen was watching him closely.

'We're all ready,' he said. 'Uh...everybody got everything they need? Coats? Water bottles? Last minute toilet stops?'

'Yes,' Josh said decisively. Everybody else nodded.

'Then let's go.'

They headed out to the cars. K Unit instinctively stuck together, and Clara unlocked her own car and got into the driver's seat. Alex stuck with her through long habit, but he realised that they hadn't stopped to think of any kind of seating plan...

No sooner had the thought formed when he and Clara were joined in the convertible by Jane and Yassen.

 _Facepalm_ , Alex thought.  _How does this keep happening_?

The jeep started up first, revving with a growl, its headlights bursting into glaring life. It nosed out of the drive and into the road, and Clara put her car in gear and followed after it.

After about ten minutes they reached the motorway. Alex knew that it was quite likely that they would get separated by a mile or two during the drive, and they had agreed to rendezvous at the small bed and breakfast they had booked, in the village near where the Scorpia facility was supposed to be. He wasn't worried about that. But now it seemed that he was the last line of defence against Yassen. Fabulous.

They drove. It was completely dark now, except for the two streams of car lights, white one way and red the other, stretching on into the distance. Flecks of sleet were hitting the windscreen, and Clara had the wipers on, clunking steadily back and forth, mopping a clear patch across the glass. The fan blew hot air at their feet and the windscreen, making the air warm and humid and adding a low, drowsy roar to the sounds in the car. Nobody was talking.

'Alex,' Clara said, 'could you get my i-pod out of my bag and stick it in the dock, please?'

Alex complied, and Clara switched it on and selected an album. A blare of piano and guitar chords sounded from the speakers as the i-pod began to play ABBA's _Hole in Your Soul._

' _You feel bad, let me tell you, we all get the blues..._ '

'More lame rock,' Alex mumbled.

'Gotta stay awake somehow.'

' _Sometimes life is a burden, way down in your shoes..._ '

'True enough.'

He sat back in his seat, staring out of the black windshield, thinking. Thinking of twisting his fingers through riff after complicated riff, of the shrieking guitar stabbing in his ears and shivering down his spine, of the sweat and light and screaming of a concert...had he really done that only twice? Of Roberta's deep, husky voice saying dryly, ' _aptitude is pain, Alex, aptitude is pain._ ' And then Clara had translated it into Latin and Josh had painted it like a crest over the door of the garage...'Non-Conformists.  _Aptitudo dolor est_.'

' _But if there's one thing for the better, that can turn you loose_  
'There's gotta be rock and roll,  
'To fill the hole in your soul.  
'There's gotta be rock and roll...'

His fingers were itching. He twisted round in his seat, reached over Jane, who squawked, and past Yassen, who stared at him silently, and pulled a guitar out of the boot.

It was a proper guitar, not a bass, and he and Roberta hadn't done more than an idle demonstration or two of how to play it, so he went for trial and error, playing the chords Roberta had showed him, followed by the ones he thought he might have seen her play during rehearsal, followed by complete guesses. He had to hold it awkwardly, with the neck pointed towards the back of the car, so as not to poke Clara with it.

For a long time his actions brooked no response from anybody, which meant they must be more asleep than he'd realised, but finally Clara said in a low voice,

'Try and play along with the music or something. You're clashing.' Then she said, in a more alert voice, 'Alex, is that Rob's guitar?'

'You're tired,' he said quickly. He glanced at the luminous clock on the dashboard. They'd been on the road for three hours. 'Let me drive for a bit.'

'You know how to drive?'

'Learned when I was eight.'

'OK then.' Clara was obviously too used to his odd abilities now to comment. 'Thanks.'

She pulled onto the hard shoulder and stopped, leaving the engine running.

'Clara?' Yassen said from the back, and both of them jumped. Alex had almost forgotten that he was there.

'Yes, Yassen?' Clara said.

'If you want some sleep, we can swap seats. There is more room to stretch out in the back.'

'Yes thanks,' Clara said. Alex had a feeling that there was some good reason why he should object to that, but he was too sleepy to think what it was. Clara and Yassen both got out of the car, Alex slid across to sit behind the steering wheel and Yassen got in on the passenger side. Alex heard Jane murmur a sleepy hello to Clara as she climbed into the back, and Clara sigh in response. He pressed down on the accelerator pedal and slid out into the oncoming traffic.

He had never driven on the motorway before, but if anything, once you got used to the speed, it was easier than country lanes with sharp twists and turns. But of course, that could make it more dangerous. It could lull you, like it had been doing to Clara. He sat up straighter and tried to concentrate.

It was nine thirty in the evening – two and a half hours into Alex's driving stint, pitch black and cold – when Yassen spoke.

'Alex?'

Alex sighed. Of course. That was the reason why he had wanted to disagree when Yassen suggested switching seats. Because the Russian wanted to talk to him.

Of course, he had waited. Clara and Jane had been murmuring on and off to each other and to him, but they had been silent for half an hour now. Yassen still seemed in no particular hurry. The guitar was propped between his knees, and he ran his fingers slowly up and down the strings, making a very soft squeaking sound, staring into space.

'Yes?' Alex prompted him at last.

'You are angry,' Yassen stated.

'Angry with you?'

'Maybe. That is what I'm wondering.'

Alex sighed again and began to speak quietly. 'Yes, I'm angry. I'm angry that this whole spy thing ever happened. I'm angry that my friends have to be in danger, that we can't just hang out and forget all of this. I'm angry that I still couldn't protect Roberta. But no, I'm not really angry with you. I don't particularly like you, but...'

'You are not angry with me?' Yassen said, not surprised or incredulous, but just politely asking for clarification.

'Psssh.' Alex made an exasperated sound. 'What would be the point? In the end, it's not really you're fault that Clara got into trouble. You just carry out the orders; I could kill you, but that wouldn't get rid of the root of the problem. And this time you really did have nothing to do with it.'

'You believe that?' Yassen asked, and Alex blinked. It had never actually occurred to him that Yassen might have orchestrated the kidnap.

'Yes, I do,' he said, shaking his head at himself as he spoke. 'I suppose I could say that it's your fault she was targeted, because you came to stay with us. But I could have handed you over to MI6, so I guess that one's my fault as well.'

'And yet you don't particularly like me...?'

'I still believe that killing is wrong, Yassen,' Alex said. 'Julia Rothman tried to make out that I was just the same as you and her, but I'm not. I only killed when I had to. It's not the same as murdering in cold blood, or for money.'

'Mmm.' Yassen bent forward a little and propped his chin on his steepled fingers. 'The way...' he said, '...that your friends look at me...is rather amusing. Good and evil...it's not true to say that I don't believe in them. Untrue to say that I don't see the difference, anyway. But I don't believe in absolutes. Look at Mr Blunt, for example. Manipulating a teenager in the name of the common good. He –'

'We've had the Mr Blunt rant before, Yassen,' Alex said. 'This is not new. Couldn't agree with you more, but whatever.'

'Alright,' Yassen said, 'but that was only one example. There is also your father.'

'Right.' Alex groaned internally. 'My father.'

'I told you what he did. He was an assassin, like me. He killed people for money, to support his wife and child. He made hiimself rich. By your generalising standards, that would make him a bad man.'

'You think I'm afraid to accept that my father was a bad man, Yassen?' Alex said louder.

'I suppose not. That is excellent. Very objective. But the point is that to me, he was a good man. He was the best man I ever knew.'

Yassen stopped, as though gathering his thoughts. His eyes, in the passing glow of the streetlamps, were wide awake, and less dead and frozen than Alex had ever seen them before. Yassen's voice was measured when he next spoke.

'He trained me, Alex. He looked after me and helped me to turn from a refugee into a healthy young man with a successful career. When I was fourteen, I had no hope. Scorpia gave me my life back. Your father gave me my life back. He  _saved_  my life. All these things, to my mind, qualify as good actions.'

Alex shifted his fingers, focussing on the leather grain of the steering wheel beneath them. The i-pod had moved on from ABBA long ago, and was playing something choral and classical. A lullaby. It was making him even more tired, but it allowed him to keep calm. He wondered if he should tell Yassen the truth. That his father had been a double-agent. A spy for MI6. The words sat on his tongue. How should he speak them? Defiantly? Soft and consoling? He shook his head. He was afraid, he realised, that if he told Yassen the truth, the assassin might decide that his obligation to Alex no longer existed, reach across and casually strangle him. Instead he said,

'On Air Force one, you told me that my father saved your life. You said he gave you that scar on your neck. How did that happen?'

Yassen frowned thoughtfully, fingering the scar. In the field, in the snow, he had told Roberta that it was a long story. But this was Alex. And he had all night to kill.

'It was during an assignment in the Amazon jungle,' he said. Alex listened as the picture formed in his mind's eye: the heat of the jungle, the green, holy silence, the drug dealer in his sealed-in complex, concealed from the world by swathes of leaves. And hacking towards him, the two assassins, his father and the young Yassen – Cossack – with determination in their hearts and death in their hands. Comrades. A team.

'Hunter?' Alex said. 'Was that seriously the best he could come up with?'

'Hmm.' Yassen pondered this. 'I suppose I never really thought about it at the time.'

'And if he was a Rider, how come you got to be Cossack?'

'The Cossacks are Russian.'

'Not really. Slavonic, maybe.'

'True, but they're closer to Russian than British.'

'Whatever.' Alex made a disgusted sound. 'I just can't believe you had a cooler code name than my dad.'

Yassen chuckled and continued, telling about the spider, the safety of the helicopter, the Commander and the bullet.

'He  _shot_  the spider off your  _neck_?' Alex demanded.

'Yes.'

'That's ridiculous.'

'I know.'

'Ridiculous or not,' came a voice from the back, 'you tell a mean story.'

The car swerved as Alex jumped nearly out of his skin. 'Clara!' he hissed. 'I thought you were asleep.'

'I was, for a while.' He could hear her rustling and yawning behind him. 'But I woke up. That sounds epic, Yassen.'

Alex sighed between gritted teeth. He wanted to demand to know how much she'd heard – particularly if she'd heard Yassen talking about his father and Alex not correcting him – but he decided that silence would be safer. Clara was sounding completely unconcerned, her voice gaining focus and volume as she talked.

'If I was writing your missions as a story,' she was saying, 'I would totally put that as, like, a prologue. And then reveal who it was dramatically, at a later point.'

'Which is essentially what happened,' Alex said, exchanging a glance with Yassen. 'But I don't want you to write a book.'

'Aw, come on, Alex, it would be fun. We could see how close we could cut it to the truth. Send Alan Blunt a copy and watch him twitch. Make up for some of those cheques you didn't get.'

'Clara,' Alex said firmly, 'remember that book of poetry you wrote? The one that inspired someone to pay Yassen here to come after you? Well, this would be the same thing, only with assassins from  _all_ the organisations mentioned in the book coming after you. And this time I don't think I'd be able to charm our way out of it. So don't. Please?'

'OK, I see your point,' Clara admitted. There was a pause. 'Your father, though...'

'Don't talk about my father!' Alex said brusquely. He hoped that Clara would get the message, and thankfully she fell silent.

'I'm sorry,' Yassen whispered. 'Did she know?'

'Yes,' Alex said, his eyes on the road. 'She knows.'

Of all three of them, Yassen was the only one who had known John Rider. And yet Clara knew the truth about his father, and Yassen didn't. To Alex, it didn't quite seem fair.


	28. Infiltration

' _Wake up, little Rider...wake up...you're not dead...yet...only paralysed, tempor –'_

'Wha-wha...AAARRRRGGGHHHH _!_ ' Alex cried, flailing upright with his eyes still glued shut. 'What the – ?' He looked round, panting, and realised that he was sitting up in bed, in a small room with wooden fittings, lace curtains and roses on the bedsheets. Clara was bending over him.

'What the  _hell_?' he groaned, sinking back onto the pillows again. 'Man, you need to lay off watching Spider-man, Clara.'

'I don't see why.'

Alex opened his eyes again.

'In case you hadn't noticed, that was  _not_  an appropriate waking-up line between friends. It was a murderous villain kidnapping Spider-man with knockout gas and then intimidating him.'

'Heh. Sorry.'

'S'alright. Uh...where are we?'

Josh stuck his head around the door. 'In a bed-and-breakfast in Scotland,' he said, 'in the biggest suite of rooms they had.' He rubbed his neck hard, grimacing. 'I've been sleeping on the sofa.'

'I don't remember...' Alex shook his head groggily. He could remember talking to Yassen in Clara's car, and then swapping to give the Russian the wheel, but after that there was nothing but a blank sea of sleepiness.

'You were asleep, bruv. I carried you in.'

'You  _what_?' Alex squeaked. He knew that Josh was muscular, but that was just ridiculous. 'Why didn't you wake me?'

'Yassen and Wolf said you needed your sleep, and I thought you'd rather me than either of them.'

'Uh...yeah.'

'Taylor carried Jane,' Josh said, pushing off the doorframe and coming further into the room, 'and Clara was sleepwalking and crashing into stuff.'

'Was not,' Clara said, smacking him. 'Anyway, Alex, Jane and Taylor are just waking up, and our soldier-boys are already having breakfast. Care to join?'

'Yeah. Get out and I'll dress.'

*     *     *

He found Yassen and K Unit already deep in discussion around a breakfast table in the shadowiest corner of the room. Alex moved over to join them. He slid into a chair beside Fox and leaned into the tactical conference. Taylor sat down on his other side, with the other Non-Conformists beside him.

'As you can see,' Yassen was saying, his elbows propped on the table, hands moving in small gestures as he spoke, 'outside this village the built-up land gives way very quickly to forest.' He gestured out of the lace-curtained window, where a strip of wilderness could be seen rising steeply towards the frosty blue sky, thickly wooded below and giving way to bare grey heather and granite towards the top. 'The base is out in the forest to the east, roughly three miles from here. There is a well-maintained track running close by – it is difficult to be completely isolated in this country. We will be able to drive most of the way, and then we will have a five-minute walk from our vehicles to the base itself. A three-minute run, should it come to that.' He gave the shadow of a smile.

'Security?' Wolf growled. 'How are we getting in?'

Yassen smiled more widely. 'It should not be difficult. Putting up razor wire and cameras attracts attention. If the base was fully operational, it's true that it would be hard for a small, unorganised group such as ourselves to gain access, but as it is security should be lax. Even when fully staffed, the base would only contain around twenty people.'

' _Twenty_?' Wolf exploded. 'You propose that we just walk in there and try to take on twenty armed –'

'Twenty staff  _all together_ , Wolf,' Yassen said, holding up a placating hand. 'Workers and security. Did you know that there are Scorpia operatives who have never fired a gun in their lives? Who faint at the sight of blood? An organisation like ours requires scientists, legal staff, technological specialists – not just assassins. And remember that this base is not frequently used – a fall-back position more than anything else. I wouldn't expect more than one or two guards.'

'Yassen, why do you even have this base?' Alex asked in a petulant, adolescent tone, watching the Russian keenly for his reaction.

'It's a case of not putting all your eggs in one basket, Alex. We maintain a number of small, inconspicuous bases in respectable locations such as this – the world's security services can't possibly keep a watch on all of them. All the same, we prefer not to use this one for any heavy work if we can help it. Ethical laws make it expensive to conduct research in the United Kingdom. It's mostly desk-work at this base, analysing data from abroad. But it seems to me that, on this occasion, the facility here is ideal. You would never have known about it if it hadn't been for me, after all. If I were a Scorpia executive, I would think it an excellent place to hold Roberta.'

'And don't you think that the security might have been upped if they've brought a hostage in, Gregorovich?' Wolf asked.

Yassen looked him coolly in the eye. 'How many men does it take to guard an untrained girl, Wolf?'

Wolf subsided. Alex took a gulp of coffee, hiding his frown behind the mug. He took a sidelong glance at the Non-Conformists, who were all eating in silence, obviously listening very intently.  _What is he playing at?_  he thought, looking at the Russian, who was calmly chewing wholemeal toast, his expression completely clear.  _I don't believe what he says; his story's as full of holes as Roberta's fishnets. But surely he could think of a better trap if he wanted...unless he thinks that we wouldn't trust a perfect story...unless he thinks only this one's mad enough to believe. So what's his motive?_ Of one thing Alex was certain: Yassen was not trying to kill him. Call it intuition, call it what you liked. But _what_ then? Certainly he wasn’t trying to kill Clara. That he could have accomplished much more easily.

Alex could sense that K Unit were waiting for his input; that he himself had more power to influence the decisions made than any of them had realised consciously before. If he objected to Yassen’s plan, they would side with him. They were only there to save his friend in the first place, after all. But he wasn’t going to find out the Russian’s game by bailing now. Alex decided: he would play along for now. He would keep his eyes on Yassen. He would stop him if he had to. He had wrecked better-laid plans before, after all.

He raised no further objections to Yassen, and K Unit, hearing his silence, did not protest.

*     *     *

Clara's car was tightly sprung. Rather than jolting hard over the ruts in the road, it bounced, almost like a trampoline. Alex hung onto one of the hand-bars above the door, letting his head loll forward with each bump, deep in thought. K Unit's jeep was behind them, and the headlights flooded the convertible, picking out the faces of his friends in an odd mess of light and shadow. The argument for their coming was that, should he, Yassen and K Unit need to make a quick getaway, they would need someone waiting to drive the cars. But Alex knew that it wasn't a real excuse – at least not for bringing all of them. They should have been back in the bed and breakfast. No, they should have been back in Essex, sitting around Clara's dining table. But once again, Alex didn't want to give an order to his friends, and when he pictured what it would be like to wait in safety, not knowing if the mission would succeed, he couldn't find it in his heart to argue with them.

Clara was driving. She looked pale.

The Jeep stopped. In the wing mirror, Alex saw Yassen signal to him, and touched Clara on the shoulder. She nodded and slowed. The jeep steered sideways and lumbered off the track, into the trees, and Clara made a three-point turn and followed. They drove until the trees became too thick to allow the vehicles to pass. Then they stopped. Clara cut the engine, opened her door, stuck one leg out and waited.

Alex climbed out of the car and walked towards the jeep. He shivered as he did so, pulling his jacket close around him. He had left his anorak at the bed and breakfast, thinking that the extra layers would only hamper him, and that, knowing his luck, he would soon be good and warm one way or another, but now the air seemed to bite right through to him. The cold felt like wet against his skin. Alex was sure that the temperature could only be a few degrees above zero at the most – damp rather than dry and frosty. Thin mist shifted between the trees, beading on his skin. It would probably rain. Just what he needed: a nice downpour that would work its way all through his clothes and ensure that the cold reached him. He would have preferred a blizzard; at least that was dry.

He looked questioningly at Yassen, who nodded and said,

'That way.'

Alex swallowed, and turned back to the car. Taylor had half-risen from his seat.

'Bruv –' he said.

'Don't even try it, Taylor,' Alex said, shaking his head. 'You're all staying here. Don't be ridiculous.'

'Don't worry, Alex,' Jane said, putting her hand on Taylor's arm. 'Not that I want you to die alone or anything, but I'm not  _desperate_  to join in this time.'

They all laughed. There was nothing much else to do. Alex felt the soft, shared chuckle ignite a tiny, steady kernel of warmth in the pit of his twisting stomach. He hesitated for a moment. He would have liked to hug Taylor, but something held him back. Was it because he didn't want displays of affection in front of K Unit? Or because a proper goodbye would make it seem like he wasn't coming back?

'If we're not back in an hour,' he said, grimacing around the futile words, 'uh...call the police.'

'Will do, Alex,' Clara nodded.

'Sit in the jeep,' Snake said, tossing her the car keys. 'It's warmer.'

'Thanks.' Clara spun the keyring around one finger but stayed where she was, watching. Alex shifted his shoulders and backed slowly away, falling in with K Unit. They reached the screen of the trees, turned away, began to walk and then to run. Alex didn't look back.

That last look and that hug. He had a feeling he was going to regret not taking those.

Leaping over mossy logs and ducking beneath branches loaded with fine, drenching sprays of water, it took them three minutes, as Yassen had said. Then they came into a clearing. Alex, peering through the gathering gloom – it was four o'clock, and already getting dark – saw a tall railing fence running ahead of them, turning in a sharp right angle at either end. A square complex. Not large. So far, Yassen’s intel had been accurate.

'Camera,' Snake whispered.

The long black box, its lens glinting, was perched watchfully above the gate. Running his eye along the top of the fence, Alex saw others set up at intervals. They were arranged at different angles, but none of them were rotating. Finally Fox pointed to a spot between two and said,

'Blind spot.'

With a nod, Wolf darted forward and jumped. His foot crunched in the damp leaf litter, and he caught hold of the top of the fence, his powerful arms hoisting him up and swinging him over. He landed on the other side with a tiny scrunch of boots on concrete.

One by one, the others copied the manoeuvre. Alex was the last one over. He had to jump high to make it, and his bullet wound made a whispered complained as he hauled himself up. He landed, cat-like, the others stepping back to make room for him, and took stock of his surroundings.

They were on a paved walkway that ran right up to the fence, hemmed in on either side by the blank, windowless walls of two buildings. Looking up, he saw their tiled roofs slanting up above them. They followed the walkway up, peering cautiously round the corner of the left-hand wall, and found themselves looking into a more open space. From where he was, Alex could see the gate, electronic from the look of it, and a path leading to the front of what seemed to be the main building. It was high – three storeys, maybe – and really quite nicely designed. A plate-glass window showed an open-plan ground floor, with clean, modern fittings, a reception desk of all things, incongruous wooden beams and a flight of steps leading up. A concrete path like the one they were on lead all the way around it and out of sight. Arranged around the main building, against the compound fence, were several one-storey bunkers in red brick. It was between two of these that they had entered the compound. Now Alex risked moving away from the shelter of the wall, into the open space.

Nothing happened. He turned to examine the low cabin whose side wall they had just walked along. It had a dark green door, clearly locked, with a blank window on either side of it. Alex cupped his hands around his face and peered into one of the windows. Nothing.

'I expect that these are storage buildings or computer labs,' Yassen whispered. 'The glass building most likely contains offices, living quarters, anything that houses humans.' He paused. 'A cell block might be around the back.'

'Quiet, isn't it?' Eagle said, stirring uneasily.

'Somebody at home, though, look,' Wolf murmured, gesturing towards the glass building. The reception area was lit up. Wolf was right. There had to be somebody on the site.

'Not much security, is there?' Snake muttered.

'Who would want to break in?' said Yassen.

'I know I didn't,' Eagle said. He wrapped his arms around himself. 'I'm  _freezing_.'

'Then let's get cracking,' Wolf said. He wasn't whispering, but his voice was very low. 'We'll need to divide up –'

'Alex should not be alone,' Yassen said at once. He turned to Alex. 'You could accompany me –'

'Cub, you'll stick with Snake,' Wolf interrupted. Alex rolled his eyes to himself, slouching back against the wall, and then wondered if Yassen had been using reverse psychology. Did he  _not_  want Alex following him? Well, Alex was going to keep his eyes open...but he wondered how many times he was going to let an action of the Russian's pass, noted but not challenged. How many more times would be one time too many?

'I'll be partnered with Gregorovich,' Wolf continued. 'Eagle and Fox can partner up. Now, you two check around these cabins here, Snake and Cub head straight for the back, and Gregorovich and I will take the main building.'

Alex nodded, swallowing. It was so damned quiet. He would have almost welcomed a shouting gun squad bursting out of the shadows at this point. At least then he would know where his enemies were. But the whole complex really did seem to be asleep.

Snake slipped around the corner of the brick bunker and Alex followed. They began to skirt round the main building, hugging the walls of the surrounding cabins rather than using the path. Glancing back, he saw Fox and Eagle heading off in the opposite direction, checking the door of each cabin they passed, and Wolf and Yassen darting towards the main building. He hoped they knew what they were doing.

They continued on, following the path until it made a right-angled turn to the right. Alex was beginning to form a clearer picture of where he was. The compound was a fenced-in square, with a single gate in the side they had entered over. Right up against the fence, in a ring around the whole compound, were these red-brick cabins: squat, one-story buildings, all identical. Alex thought that Yassen was probably right when he said they were used for storage. He couldn't imagine anyone spending time in them; not on a night like this. At least, not any Scorpia employee...

The concrete path they were following formed an inner ring inside the fence and the cabins; inside that was the main building, the one with the glass front. As he and Snake reached the corner of the complex and turned, he saw that the main building was rectangular in shape. What they had seen as they entered was the gable end. Now the path turned and ran along one of the long sides, heading towards the back of the complex. There was a grass strip between the path and the wall of the main building, with shrubbery. Snake signalled, and together they dashed across the path and into the bushes. Undercover, they made their way on hands and knees to the back of the complex.

Here, the smooth rectangle of the building broke up into a messy collection of smaller blocks. Alex looked at Snake, half-rising from his crouch in the shrubbery as he did so. There was an automatic double door ahead of them. Snake shrugged, stepped forward and stood in front of it. The door slid open.

*     *     *

Nothing happened when Wolf pushed open the tall glass door and stepped into the reception area. No sirens erupted, no guns opened fire. He glanced around. There was a curved desk with a computer behind it, and opposite that an alcove with a couple of leather sofas. The staircase headed up. The room was softly lit with a faintly green-blue light.

'Do alright for yourselves, don't you?' Wolf muttered. Yassen did not reply.

They advanced slowly across the foyer, checking as they did so for lasers, pressure pads, anything that might be designed to sense an intruder. Nothing. Wolf had to admit that as a partner Gregorovich was good. He performed his share of the checks meticulously, not requiring instruction, but co-operating well. He'd met soldiers harder to work with than the Russian, in fact. The young ones were always wise-arses, dashing around, trying to get to the traps before he did, as though they were Easter eggs or something. He shook his head. Evil villains or not, Scorpia knew their stuff.

They reached the stairs. Wolf knew they would be a prime space for pressure pads, but it was clear that they would have to go up if they wanted to find anything. The entire ground floor was open-plan. There was nothing down here. Yassen put his hand on the banisters, but Wolf raised an arm to stop him, a sudden thought occurring.

'Hang on,' he said. 'Mind if I check the walls first?'

Yassen made an expansive gesture. 'Not at all.'

Wolf took a quick jog around the edges of the room, brushing his fingers along the walls. All smooth paintwork, magnolia emulsion, no rough patches, no secret compartments. Nothing.

'Alright,' he said, cutting back across the room to Yassen. 'Let's try upstairs.'

It was darker on the first floor. The sky outside the windows was midnight blue, and there were only a few safety lights at floor level for illumination. Wolf and Yassen found themselves in a long corridor, lined with closed doors. Much more officey. Wolf shifted uneasily. The doors were only a few inches inside their frames. They would have no cover if somebody were to burst out and start shooting. Wolf put his hand under his jacket. Well, at least he had a gun and Gregorovich didn't. That was something.

Yassen had his head down, listening. Apparently he was satisfied with what he heard, or didn't hear anything, because he straightened up and began ghosting down the corridor. Wolf noticed how quietly he moved, delicate and fluid like a cat, his feet making no sound on the blue carpet pile. He shuddered, gripping his gun tighter. This was no time to go to pieces, but the silent complex was giving him the creeps.

They reached the first door – blank and white, not even a number. Wolf hissed as Yassen reached out calmly and tried the handle. The door opened. Nothing but a small empty office, with a telephone and a dark computer screen – even an overflowing in tray. Clearly someone did work here – but that person was long gone now.

Yassen quietly shut the door and moved on to the next one. Not to be out-done, Wolf moved across to the other side of the corridor and began checking the doors there. He was acutely aware of the Russian behind him, ears strained for the infinitesimally small sounds that marked his presence, and any change that might warn him of an attack. The next few doors that he opened yielded the same results as the first one – then, on the sixth door along, he encountered something a little different.

This room was larger, for a start, and barer – a linoleum floor instead of carpet. Metal counters lined the walls, with wheels on their bases to allow them to be moved about. And on the far side of the room, Wolf could make out a fair-sized tank.

What next? Fish? Sharks? Killer plankton?

He stepped into the room, stretching his arm out to hold the door open behind him, peering forward through the gloom. The tank was filled with some sort of liquid, viscous-looking and not quite clear. Wolf narrowed his eyes. There was an array of machinery, wiring and tubes tangled around the tank, blinking with little lights. Four tubes dangled into the tank, hooked up to a dark, fist-sized object which hung suspended in the liquid. There was a very faint beeping coming from the machinery. It seemed to Wolf that the object was pulsating slightly.

He leaned closer, and his jaw fell open.

It was a beating heart.

For a moment his stomach contracted and he tasted bile. His own heart sped up, spurting panic through his veins. He was horribly aware of it, pounding in his chest. Wolf closed his eyes and pressed a hand over his mouth, breathing in deeply through his nose. Gradually, he brought himself under control.  _Calm down, Wolf_ , he thought.  _No need to be afraid of a heart_. He opened his eyes.

What the  _hell_  was going on here?

He drifted in closer to the tank, drawn by a mix of professional interest and horrified fascination. It wasn't a trick. They were really getting the heart to beat by itself. The four tubes were carrying blood in and out. It was alright, really, now that he'd got over the initial shock. But why? Whatever  _for_?

'Gregorovich!' he hissed. 'Check this out!'

No answer.

Feeling a far worse lurch in his stomach, Wolf darted to the door and wrenched it open, sticking his head out into the passageway.

The corridor was empty. Yassen was gone.

*     *     *

 _This looks like a hospital_ , was Alex's first thought. Well, that much matched up at least. Yassen had said this was a research facility, and he also remembered the Russian's first story – on the night he had joined them, what felt like a century ago – of how Ash had been altered, his mind and body changed. If that was possible at all, it could maybe have been done here. Of course, he didn't even know that it was a hospital yet. It was just the extremely clean look of it, everything painted in white, and...what else? Yes, that was it! A prevalent smell of detergent.

The layout looked like it was going to be complicated – from the door they had come in by, three corridors fanned out.

'Let's not get lost,' Snake murmured, setting off down the left-hand one. He was smiling faintly. Alex felt grateful for the SAS man's calm. With his blond hair and quiet, easy gait, he was like a younger, more British, less emotionally dead Yassen.

The corridor turned abruptly into a more open space, and ended. Alex immediately recognised it as a ward, even though there were only three beds. It was the cleanness, the bareness, the curtains round the beds. And there was a trolley parked in the corner, with a pile of clean towels and a spray bottle of disinfectant. Clearly the ward was not currently in use – the beds were stripped down, the dressers empty – but it was obvious that this building was used to house patients. What sort of patients? Alex wondered. Sick ones? Or people recovering from experimental operations?

'This looks like a hospital,' he said out loud. Snake nodded once, and once again Alex was thankful that the Scottish man was his partner. Out of all the SAS men, he was probably the least sarcastic – the one least likely to reply,  _no shit, Sherlock_ , to a remark like that. Snake just got on with it.

There was nothing here, so they doubled back to the door they had come in by and tried the next corridor. They passed a couple of computer desks, then opened a door and found themselves in an operating theatre.

'Holy...' Snake swore under his breath, standing in the doorway, taking it all in. He crossed the room and examined the counter beside the operating table. Alex could see lots of specialised-looking equipment: IVs, tubing, scalpels rigged to complicated hydraulic arms and scalpels designed to be hand-held. Snake brushed his fingers over a tray of glittering silver, then turned to examine a computer monitor behind him, attached to a whole array of processors.

'Well, Cub,' Snake said, 'this place is pretty empty, but looks as though it's fitted out for some serious –'

He stopped dead. A man had appeared in the doorway.

Snake snapped into action at once, vaulting over the operating table and diving forward, but Alex was there ahead of him. Before the man could do more than freeze in shock, Alex's heel scythed into his throat. He followed it up immediately with a blow to the temple. He and Snake caught the man as he fell, and lowered him quietly to the ground.

'Nice reflexes, Cub,' Snake said quietly. He sucked his breath in through his teeth. 'Damn, that was a close one.'

Alex nodded once and got his arms under the man's shoulder, lifting. The head lolled back. He was alive, but knocked out cold. Alex looked him over briefly: the man looked to be thirty or so, olive-skinned, with dark hair and regular features, wearing a white coat. Alex pushed the coat back. The man was unarmed, as far as he could see, but there was a walkie-talkie clipped to his belt.

Snake took the other side, and together they hauled him around the operating table and laid him down behind it. They tore strips from his white coat, tied his wrists and ankles, and gagged him firmly. Even after he came round he wouldn't be raising the alarm. Even so, Alex knew that they were working against the clock now. The man might have co-workers in the building; he might have been in radio contact with someone outside. Either way, he was bound to be missed, and then Scorpia would know that there were intruders in their building.

He glanced at Snake, and saw that all this had already occurred to him.

'Let's get on,' the older man whispered, getting to his feet. 'If we're going to find anything –'

A door closed somewhere outside.

Alex froze, his heart hammering. Who was it? Where were they? Were he and Snake already being hunted? Alex ground his teeth. He'd always hated hide and seek anyway.

'Keep it together, Cub.' Snake was already moving, on his way to the door. Alex took a deep breath and followed. Snake flitted across the corridor and took up a stance against the wall, one hand going to his hip. Alex stayed in the doorway. There was a moment of silence, and then a figure hurtled around the corner. Alex had hit the floor and Snake had his gun halfway out of its holster before they realised it was Wolf.

'Wolf-man!' Snake gasped, collapsing against the wall and pressing a hand to his forehead. 'What are you...slow  _down_ , man! I could have killed you!'

'Pssh,' Wolf snorted.

'You nearly gave me a heart attack,' Snake complained. Wolf jumped and Snake gave him a puzzled look, then straightened up. 'Hey, what's happened? You look terrible!'

'Gregorovich is gone!' Wolf said.

'What?' hissed Snake, remembering just in time to keep his voice down. Alex offered no comment. He clambered slowly to his feet, his brows pulled down in a frown.

'I was looking into a room, and when I turned around he was gone!' It sounded pathetic, but Wolf was in no mood to describe his encounter with the heart tank.

'What? Why?'

'I don't know. I don't know what he's after, but whatever it is, we've got to find him.'

'We've got to find Roberta, too,' Snake said.

' _If_  she's even here,' Wolf retorted, 'which I'm beginning to doubt. I vote we get the hell out of here before that bastard gets back with every psycho in Scorpia behind him.'

'I don't know...' Snake said. 'You think a trap? It's looking like it...what do you think, Cub?'

They both turned.

'Alex?' Snake said blankly.

'He's...' Wolf was shaking his head, incredulous. '... _gone_?'

'Bloody hell,' Snake exclaimed. 'He's done a bunk!'

'Shit!' Wolf cursed. 'Shit, shit,  _shit_!'

*     *     *

After ditching the soldier, Yassen made his way quickly up to the third floor. He made a few turns up and down the corridors to throw Wolf off, and then searched along until he found what he was looking for: an office with a live computer.

He sat down in front of the glowing monitor, and clicked to go to the desktop. He was surprised when the computer obeyed without complaint. Now that he came to think about it, this had all been too easy. He hadn't expected to make it this far unchallenged, and he certainly hadn't expected to find a computer that would let him in without even a password. This was probably all a trap. But Yassen found that he didn't care. How much longer could he have expected to survive in this line of work, anyway? He wouldn't have become an assassin if he was afraid of death.

He just wanted to find out the truth first.

He moved the mouse over the documents shortcut and clicked.

*     *     *

'Stupid bloody fucking Cub,' Wolf fumed as they hurried down the corridor. 'What the  _hell_  does he think he's playing at, anyway?'

'Search me,' Snake shrugged. 'You don't reckon they're in cahoots, do you? Rider and Gregorovich?'

'That's not even funny, Snake.' Wolf's expression darkened even further. 'Doesn't he realise that we can't pull out now until we've found him? Well, we  _could_  –  _should_ , really, damn it, but it's going to make it harder.'

'That's probably why he ran off,' Snake observed. 'He knew we were about to decide on getting out of here, and he doesn't want to leave until he's made a thorough search for his friend. But he can't be far. C'mon, we'll find him.'

Back at the meeting-point of the three corridors again, Snake looked around. 'We hadn't been down there yet,' he said, pointing to the third corridor. 'If he wanted to look for Roberta, he might have headed down there.'

'Right,' Wolf grunted, and took off at a jog, one hand on his gun. Snake sighed quietly and followed. He felt as though he was clutching onto a piece of fabric and it was unravelling around him. The building was still quiet, but Snake knew that this mission had gone very, very wrong.

*     *     *

Yassen read. Scrolling through a very long document, he learned about hypotheses and theorems, research and experiments, all revolving around ways to alter a person's mind and body. He read about diamond-hard alloys and ceramics that could be used to replace bone, and how such materials had been developed so that they would not be rejected by the body's immune system. He read about modifications to increase the concentration of carrier chemicals across the links between nerves, and the strength of electrical impulses from the brain. It turned out that these alterations increased strength and reflexes hugely, but had a detrimental effect on the body long-term, wearing out the muscles and joints. He read a discussion of the benefits of a surgically enhanced agent versus a longer-lived, unaltered human, who would gain more skill and experience. He read about an experimental fibre which could be used to reinforce the muscles.

And then he came to the psychological side of the study. It turned out that, with very precise laser surgery, human behaviours could be altered, certain instincts increased, others suppressed. There was a great deal here about 'lesions,' artificial structures in the brain, which could be used to do just that. And here, there was a headshot of Ash.

Apparently the areas of his brain dealing with sociability – mercy, compassion and the like – had been thoroughly repressed. Augmentations to the left hand side boosted his analytical skills, but at the same time reduced his tendency to question and debate.

 _Obedience_ , Yassen thought, and read a paragraph discussing the effectiveness of the lesions. One had to consider the original mentality of the patient, apparently. There had been few opportunities for research thus far, but it was possible that the changes caused by the operation used on Ash were so drastic that in a normal citizen they would simply fail to take hold. The person operated on would notice. They would think they had gone insane. By many Scorpia scientists, a more subtle approach was recommended.

Yassen reached the bottom of the page, and clicked, 'history.'

Immediately a name and a picture flashed up on the screen.  _Yassen Gregorovich_.

Agent Gregorovich had been the very first to undergo experimental surgery, fourteen years ago. He had been a young, highly-skilled assassin, but was left unstable by the death of his mentor. The surgery, far less invasive than in later attempts, had merely suppressed certain connections in the brain – the guilt trigger, for example – allowing the brain to 'think itself' into the new mindset. After the operation, the agent's nerve had quickly recovered. He had become a highly successful Scorpia operative, and, most ground-breaking of all, he had had absolutely no memory of the operation afterwards.

' _Chyert voeh'mee_?' Yassen muttered in Russian. ' _What the hell_?' He pressed his forehead into his hand, teeth gritted together, shaking...

The door swung open behind him.

*     *     *

Snake was aware that the corridor they were travelling down was becoming less medical-looking. The walls had changed from clinical white to bare brick. The lighting was still bright, but the smell of disinfectant was fading.

'What do you reckon's here?' he whispered to Wolf.

'Why are you looking at me like I know?' Wolf snapped back.

The corridor continued on ahead of them, sloping up now like a wheelchair ramp, but to their right there was another automatic door, and as they passed it slid open, activated by their motion across it.

'Might as well check in here,' Snake suggested. Wolf grunted, and the two of them swerved to the side and through the door.

Another corridor ('another  _bloody_  corridor,' thought Wolf). Shorter this time, lit with yellowish electric light. And the walls had a pattern that made Snake's blood run cold. Bricks and bars, bricks and bars...

A series of cells.

Looking into the closest cell, they could see a chemical toilet, an empty food tray scattered with crumbs, and a narrow bed. Sprawled out on the bed with its legs pointing towards them, feet dangling over the end of the mattress, was a prone form.

The feet were wearing battered black boots, with neon laces and a little grid of squares on the sole.

As Wolf and Snake stared, the figure stirred. It sat up, blinking blearily, and then stared at them, the eyes, surrounded with smudged black liner, widening in surprise. The hair falling into those eyes was streaked with pink.

'Ro _berta_?' Wolf said, starting forward.

The automatic door hissed shut.

'Hey!' Snake yelled, darting back. He rattled the door, but it had locked automatically.

*     *     *

Yassen whipped round in his chair, clutching at the air by his hip before realising that he didn't have a gun. Nothing but his own two shaking hands.

'Mr Gregorovich,' came a calm, smiling voice from the doorway. 'How delightful to see you again.'

It was Julia Rothman.


	29. Gunpoint

‘What did you do to me?’ Yassen demanded. One of his hands rested on the back of the chair, gripping it until the knuckles turned white.

‘What did I do to you?’ Julia Rothman asked. ‘Well, nothing. Not personally, at least. I’ve never been much of a surgeon.’

Yassen chuckled, shaking his head slowly. There wasn’t much else he could do. He sighed, straightened himself up in the chair and spun it round to face the door. Mrs Rothman stepped into the room, pulled out another chair and sat down opposite him.

‘I was wondering if we might be seeing you here soon, Mr Gregorovich,’ she said quietly.

Yassen tried a different line of questioning. ‘Why did you kidnap Roberta?’ he asked.

Mrs Rothman’s eyes widened as though in surprise. ‘I’m sure you have figured that out for yourself by now, Mr Gregorovich.’

Yassen nodded. It was obvious. ‘You used her as bait,’ he said.

‘Partly,’ Mrs Rothman agreed. ‘We had to locate you somehow. I think your ruse of hiding with the Rider boy and his friends was quite remarkable, by the way. I was certain that it would be only a matter of time before we or MI6 managed to flush you out, but you had gone completely to ground. It was days before it occurred to me that Alex might be responsible...’ She trailed off, her eyes focussed on the ground without really seeing it, thoughtful. Watching, Yassen marvelled anew at her facade. However flawless his poker face, he knew that all he’d ever really achieved towards self-concealment was an icy absence of emotion. This perfectly balanced appearance of thoughtfulness, emotion and delicate womanhood was something else entirely. John Rider had mastered it too: the art of seeming like a normal, friendly human being. And Alex, of course. Yassen wondered how much of the boy’s cheerfulness was genuine, and how much of it was just an act.

Mrs Rothman spoke again, more briskly this time. ‘Of course, I laughed at myself at first. But then I started to think. It wouldn’t be the first time the Riders have surprised us. It wouldn’t be the first time an assassin has escaped detection by hiding in plain sight. So I had Ash do some scouting around Clara Foster’s house, and he happened to spot you and young Roberta, out walking during the night.

‘He told me that you talked, quarrelled and separated. Roberta began to walk home without you. You waited for some time before following.’

‘ _She_ quarrelled with _me_ ,’ Yassen murmured. Mrs Rothman smiled.

‘Now, Ash has always been somewhat perverse. It would have been the ideal time to apprehend you, but instead he chose to follow Roberta. He picked her up just outside the doorway of Clara’s house. He was quite proud of that. Of course it was a very risky thing to do – you might have taken her abduction as your cue to disappear – but he was curious, you see. He wondered whether you would come after her. And even if you hadn’t, kidnapping her wouldn’t have been an entirely useless action. It certainly helped to bring Alex Rider to us, and in any rate we were looking to obtain someone –’

‘For use in your scientific experiments,’ Yassen finished.

‘You _are_ quick!’ Mrs Rothman exclaimed. ‘Yes, you’ve been reading up on that, haven’t you?’ She glanced towards the computer, and for a moment Yassen saw something that wasn’t thoughtful or friendly, something venomous, flashing in her eyes. ‘As you saw, we found that the extremely invasive mental conditioning – surgery that completely alters a person’s mind – proved successful on a Scorpia operative who was already almost on the right track – in this case Ash. We want to take it to the next level. What will the effect be on the brain of an ordinary civilian? Particularly one with ties to Alex Rider, a decided member of the opposition?’  

‘You’re going to experiment on her?’

‘It’s perfectly safe,’ Mrs Rothman said. ‘I think she’ll make a fascinating subject, don’t you?’

Yassen breathed in slowly through his nose, dipping his eyes to the ground to think. So Roberta was here after all. If things had gone a little differently, he and Alex could both have found what they wanted here tonight. He wondered whether there were guards outside the door, and if Julia Rothman had a hidden gun. Would it be possible to make a break for it? But for what? Where would he run? And besides, Mrs Rothman still had an answer he wanted.

‘And what did you do to me?’ he asked again.

This time she answered him. ‘Well, Mr Gregorovich, it is quite an interesting story. You remember John Rider?’

‘Of course,’ Yassen replied, one corner of his mouth quirking up in the ghost of a grin, wryly. Naturally he remembered.

‘It began with his death.

‘Now I want you to understand, Yassen, that what I am going to tell you is not to diminish the work you have done with us. When you were brought in at fifteen years old, you were one of the most promising students I personally had ever encountered, and I believe that you would have gone on to have just as impressive a career as you have had, without any intervention, had it not been for your attachment to Rider Senior. The psychologist encouraged that friendship, you know; he persuaded the board and the principle at Malagosto that it was beneficial, and I still agree with his reasoning. The sad fact is that many people in our line of work do find it difficult to form friendships, and that can lead to a deteriorating state of mind. Depression, doubt and so forth. But you seemed perfectly happy. Cordial towards your fellow students, comfortable with your trainer, and completely ruthless.

‘But then, of course, John was killed. Shot down by M16. I was very shocked myself when I heard the news and you...well, you were only nineteen, and you were distraught. You seemed to lose your focus – the psychiatrist spoke with you several times, and he reported that your whole world view seemed to have been rocked. You expressed doubt in your vocation, talked about leaving, even about ending it all.

‘So the board convened. It might seem extreme, just for one operative, but you were no ordinary student. I flew down and met with you myself, and we talked.’

Yassen’s eyes were icy gimlets. Of course they would have sent her, the woman, to sympathise with his nineteen-year-old self. He could imagine himself talking, and her listening, voice soft, eyes wide and concerned, carefully feeding him exactly the things she wanted him to believe...he could imagine it, but he couldn’t _remember_.

‘I don’t recall,’ he said.

‘Ah,’ said Mrs Rothman. ‘No, you wouldn’t. I’ll explain that in a moment. But I remember very well what you said to me. I found you very engaging. You didn’t want to leave Scorpia, you see. This was the only life you had ever wanted, the only life you could envisage for yourself, and all your memories of security and companionship were with us. You expressed disgust at your own doubts; you couldn’t be rid of them, but nor did you want to be swayed by them. You told me that you wished everything could be the way it was before. And I told you about a way this might be possible. An experimental brain surgery that wouldn’t fundamentally alter who you were, but might be helpful in – ah – _rearranging_ a few things to be more as you would like them. Essentially it represses certain circuits in your brain – actions that would typically trigger guilt or self-doubt no longer do so, for example. I explained to you that the risk of ill effects was very minimal. We had already conducted experiments on animals and a few disposable prisoners; the only doubt was whether or not it would actually work. And I was telling the truth. It worked perfectly, and you have been in good health from that day to this.’

Yassen frowned. What she was saying made perfect sense, except that try as he would, he couldn’t remember the period of doubt that she had described, or the conversation, or recovering from brain surgery.

‘Why don’t I remember?’ he asked.

‘There _was_ one thing I neglected to mention at the time. You were also our first experiment with memory modification.’

‘Memory modification?’ Yassen echoed. There was something uneasy stirring in the pit of his stomach.

‘Yes. Our surgeons were successful in erasing all recollection of the operation or the circumstances preceding it from your mind. A ticklish business, but finally effective. The result was something like the blind spot in a person’s eye: unless you try to see there, you don’t notice anything amiss. Your brain simply fills in the blind spot for you, so that it seems as though your field of vision is complete. And unless someone reminded you of the incidents erased, you wouldn’t notice there was any memory gap at all. You recalled sadness at your mentor’s death. Nothing more.’

‘Until now,’ Yassen said.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘During the assignment with Ash, I was having flashbacks, dreams...’

‘Ah, yes.’ Mrs Rothman’s eyes hardened. ‘Shock, I believe. The result of encountering Rider’s son after fourteen years, quickly followed by your first major injury...you were shaken, I don’t doubt, and that compromised the modifications that had been successful up until that point. You see, as I was explaining to you before, the power of the surgery is in its discreteness. It changes you so little that you don’t notice it, but that does mean that it can be reversed in certain circumstances. It was never supposed to stand up to a violent reminder such as the appearance of a son. That is why we are hoping that the new method – the procedure which Ash has undergone – will prove more permanent. But it has its drawbacks too.’ She sighed wistfully. ‘So many problems. Myself, I have always found science to be frightfully tedious. Vital, of course, but so desperately complicated. Which is why I have made business my field. I do hope I’ve given you all the information you wanted. What? Another question?’

‘Just the one,’ Yassen assured her. ‘The heart in the laboratory that scared Wolf. What on _Earth_ was the point of that?’

Julia Rothman laughed softly. ‘The physical enhancements you witnessed in Ash require deep surgery,’ she explained. ‘The liquid you saw in the lab is a growth medium in which organs and tissues can survive while the operation is in progress.’

‘I see,’ Yassen nodded. He met her eyes. There was a pause, and he felt a coldness settle over the room, clinging to his skin like falling dew. He had finished asking his questions; the pretence of chat was over. Now they were coming to it.

He went first.

‘You ordered Ash to kill me.’

Mrs Rothman had lost her friendly air. Her voice was flat and professional. ‘We both know this business, Yassen. I considered you to have outlasted your usefulness. I’m sure you won’t hold it against me.’

‘And what happens to me now?’

‘As I have told you already, I was considerably impressed by your success in evading us. I truly believe that, if your curiosity hadn’t got the better of you, you would have got clean away. And your initial escape was quite remarkable. An enhanced agent, supposedly superior to any ordinary human being, set on you without warning, and you still survived! Not to mention managing to track the information you were seeking to this place.’

Mrs Rothman reached for the handle of the desk draw. She reached into it and pulled out a gun.

‘Mr Gregorovich, it appears that I made a miscalculation. Clearly you are still capable, and I would like to welcome you back into the organisation.’ She spun the gun in her hand so that the grip was pointing towards Yassen. He reached out slowly and took it.

Mrs Rothman smiled. ‘And now why don’t you go and complete your assignment?’

*     *     *

‘How much,’ Clara said, ‘on a scale of one to ten, does this suck?’

‘A lot,’ Taylor replied, resting his chin glumly on the steering wheel of the Jeep.

‘I know, right? And I’m cold.’

‘Yeah.’ Taylor sighed, puffing out a cloud of steam, and took her hands to warm them. ‘We should have gone with Alex.’

Clara drew away. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ she said. Josh and Jane both looked up at the sharpness in her voice.

‘I’m not being ridiculous.’ Taylor’s voice, too, was steely. ‘I know!’ he said, holding up a hand as Clara and Jane both opened their mouths. ‘I know there’s nothing we could do, but he’s our mate. I’m not being _ridiculous_.’

Clara’s eyes were boring into him. ‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ she ordered.

‘“Don’t do anything stupid?” What stupid thing could I possibly –’

‘Guys,’ Josh interrupted firmly. He didn’t say anything else, but his meaning was clear. _This argument is tedious. Shut up._

There was a pause as they each accepted Josh’s warning, and then Jane carefully began again.

‘I understand what Taylor is saying. Of course we can’t help, but it feels wrong just sitting here doing nothing. Friends should be able to help each other.’

‘Yeah,’ Josh said dispassionately. He leaned his head back as far as it would go and closed his eyes. ‘It sucks.’

Clara, Taylor and Jane exchanged glances. They waited, but Josh didn’t move. His eyelids flickered slightly over his closed eyes, and he drummed his fingers lightly on his knees with a soft scratching of woollen gloves against denim. Other than that he was completely still. Taylor shifted slightly in his seat, glancing out of the window at the dark, barely-discernible shapes of branches. Clara looked at Josh and gave a sharp sigh, as though to say, ‘it’s all very well for _him._ ’ Jane caught her expression, cleared her throat and spoke.

‘Um…K Unit said we should be ready to drive the cars away if they come back in a hurry, right? Well, we’ll need both cars…so Clara, maybe you should, um, move over to the convertible.’

‘Yes,’ Clara replied, in a voice that was probably too loud for the small space. They didn’t all have Josh’s patience. ‘Good thinking. I’ll do that then.’

She reached for the door handle and pulled it open. Icy air and the smell of damp leaves swirled in, and Jane and Taylor huddled instinctively away from the draught. Josh cracked one eye open and met Clara’s.

‘Convertible? Take my coat.’

‘Thanks,’ Clara said tersely, already shivering. She grabbed the heavy black coat off his knee and clambered out of the jeep, closing the door hastily behind her before too much heat escaped.

Even the few yards’ walk was unpleasant. She hurried from one car to the other, wriggling into the coat and rummaging in her pocket for her keys as she went. She located them, reached her car door and bent down, trying to locate the keyhole in the dark.

‘Bloody stupid excuse for something to do,’ she muttered, teeth chattering. ‘ _Why_ it has to be this night of all – aha!’

The key slid into the lock with a satisfying scrunch of metal on metal, and she pulled the car door open and jumped swiftly inside.

It was scarcely warmer beneath the thin hood than it had been in the open air. And horribly dark. She could still see the shadow of the jeep to her right, but that didn’t lessen the uncomfortable press of the forest on the other side. Clara reached forward with one hand, keeping the other clamped firmly beneath her arm for warmth, and stabbed clumsily at the i-pod in the dock. The menu flashed up briefly, and was then replaced by a dark screen, a yellow exclamation mark and a message:

_Warning: Low battery. Connect to power immediately._

‘Oh, _perfect_!’ Clara groaned in disgust, flopping back in the car seat. She glanced uneasily through the windscreen. ‘Come _on_ , Alex, wherever you are…’

She leaned her forehead against the window and peered out at the Jeep. Next moment condensation bloomed up the pane as she exhaled. Clara kept her hands tucked up her sleeves and watched it slowly fade.

There was a flare of light. Taylor had found a lighter and cigarettes in the Jeep’s glove compartment. Watching the practised way his thumb flipped the lighter, Clara recalled other cold memories like this: a frosty morning when the bus had been late, before she’d even dreamed of owning a car. That had been before Taylor had joined the choir, when they were still enemies, but that day they’d had a truce, and Taylor had borrowed a lighter from his brothers and used it to make a tiny bonfire out of twigs and dead leaves which had to be re-lit every thirty seconds, and they’d crouched and fed it with dead leaves while his brothers huddled over their cigarettes and swore and spat on the frosty pavement…she’d wondered aloud whether the spit would freeze before the bus came, like in the Arctic where you could pour boiling water out of a kettle and watch it freeze into ice crystals before it hit the ground.

‘Does it?’ they’d asked. ‘Does it really do that, boffin? _Cool_!’

Taylor lit a cigarette and bobbed it in the window, taking drawing short puffs of smoke into his cheeks and blowing them straight out again to keep it lit. She waved back at the little glowing light, and then looked out over the bonnet again.

 _Scrunch_.

Clara sat up straighter. Surely she hadn’t really heard footsteps. She was just getting strung up, letting the darkness and silence get to her.

_Scrunch._

There it was again! The sounds were coming from the opposite side of the car to the light from the Jeep, and they were definitely getting louder. Louder and closer. _Scrunch scrunch scrunch_. A person, running through leaf-litter.

She tensed, one hand on the passenger door, her heart in her mouth…and then Yassen broke through the stand of trees and slowed to a walk.

Clara threw the door open and flung her legs out, pulling herself upright. ‘Yassen!’ she exclaimed. He heard her at once and turned. ‘Yassen, what’s going on, are you okay –’

She stopped. There was a pistol pointing at her chest.

‘Huh?’ was the most intelligent thing she could think of to say. There was a roaring in her ears, a pounding in her chest, a kind of twisting lurch in her stomach – but no real fear, not yet. She couldn’t quite make sense of this real life gun, pointing at her, with nothing in between. And the idea of its being to do with Yassen’s hand didn’t fit either. It had to be a trick. Photoshop maybe. Because Yassen was a person who she knew, and guns…they were fiction. They didn’t really happen. Not in real life.

‘Yassen?’ she said again, almost quizzically. And then more sharply: ‘what are you doing?’

He gave a smile. It wasn’t utterly devoid of humour, and that was the scary thing.

‘I’m completing my assignment,’ he answered.

‘What?’ Clara asked, in a faster, higher tone.

‘You don’t remember? My assignment to kill you.’

She looked at him. He raised the gun.

Her body understood that, even if her mind didn’t. It jerked her backwards.

‘No!’ she said. ‘No, wait!’

 _Click_.

 _The safety catch_ , a small, dispassionate voice informed her.

‘No, please –!’

She saw the joints flexing in his hand. And it seemed that from somewhere off to the side, she could also hear running footsteps. And hear a husky adolescent voice, roaring:

‘ _Stop_!’

She froze as a figure leapt between them, its back to her and both arms raised. Yassen stepped back smartly, bringing the gun up against his shoulder, muzzle pointing to the sky. Away from her.

She slumped against the car door.

 _Alex Rider_.


	30. Revelation

When Wolf had appeared with the news that Yassen had vanished, Alex had found himself with a very few seconds in which to make a crucial decision. Ignore Yassen and continue searching for Roberta – assuming she was in this base at all? Forget Roberta and go after Yassen? Or split up, some searching for one and some for the other? In a split-second he had made up his mind and slipped away through the nearest door just before Snake called his name.

Hopefully K Unit would carry on looking for Roberta and trust him to look out for himself. He had known that he couldn’t leave Yassen to his own devices; whatever the Russian was doing, catching him at it would probably be Alex’s best chance of finding his ulterior motive for bringing them to this place. And of one thing he had been certain. Though there were few depths too murky where Scorpia was concerned, Yassen’s plan did not involve killing Alex himself. Not after all the pains he had taken to keep him alive. Therefore, Alex had reasoned, it would be better to take off alone than to waste valuable time hauling K Unit along with him.

Right now, crouching breathlessly between the wild-eyed Clara and Yassen’s gun, he was thinking it had been a good decision. Having an SAS unit in full cry burst in on him would probably have sent Yassen off into a full-scale killing-spree, but his own appearance, miraculously, had knocked him off-balance. The pistol was raised harmlessly against his shoulder, muzzle pointing towards the branch-broken, star-studded sky. Straightening up, catching his breath, he knew that he held the Russian’s only weakness. But how to exploit it further, when to do so meant a battle of nerves with Scorpia’s coldest assassin, when all these theatrics made him feel so God-damned ridiculous?

Yassen was already recovering. ‘Alex,’ he said smoothly, drawing himself together into the most ominously relaxed of stances. He looked at him sidelong, shaking his head. ‘Riders always did have the luck of the devil.’

Alex straightened up too and flicked his hair back from his face. ‘Not all people would call this _lucky_ , Yassen,’ he replied.

‘Astute, then,’ Yassen said flatly. ‘How did you know I would be here?’

‘Lucky guess,’ Alex shrugged. ‘But it was kind of obvious, once I thought about it.’

‘Obvious to you?’ Yassen said, arching an eyebrow. ‘Impressive. Because I didn’t know myself until about five minutes ago.’

‘Oh really?’ Alex asked. He could hear Clara’s harsh breathing behind him, and there was a high, strained note to his own voice as well. He wondered how much longer he could spin this out for, and to what end. ‘Well you see, I realised you were up to something when Wolf came barging in on me and Snake all, “OMG, Yassen’s gone!” and I decided I’d come looking for you by myself.’ _Damn, I should have made out that K Unit were right behind me. Never mind._ ‘I never quite believed you when you told us that Roberta might be here, so I was running around the complex thinking, “where’s Yassen, how do I find him?” And then I suddenly thought, _Clara_.’ Alex snapped his fingers in mid-air, then glanced over his shoulder. ‘I didn’t know if it would be a waste of time to come and check on you, because Yassen might have been getting away with doing something else while I ran all the way out here, but turned out he was here too, so…’ He trailed off. Drew a breath. ‘I guess it’s _lucky_ that I did.’ He turned to look at Yassen again. ‘But you say you didn’t know you were going to be here yourself? Because I was thinking: if all you wanted was to kill Clara, there was no need for you to drag us all the way up to Scotland to do it, was there?’

‘Incredible.’ Yassen shook his head slowly from side to side. ‘You anticipate every move. In other circumstances, you might have won.’ He looked Alex in the eye. ‘You are right. There are many easier ways in which I could have killed Clara. The reason why I suggested that we come here was that I believed this centre might hold the information I needed about Scorpia’s brain modifications.’

‘And did you find what you were looking for?’

‘I did. It turns out that I was operated on shortly after the death of your father, and certain of my memories were erased. I found all this out surprisingly easily, and then…’ Yassen smiled. ‘I met Julia Rothman.’

‘And…’ Alex whispered.

Yassen shrugged. ‘She offered me a job.’

‘Ha,’ Alex said blackly.

‘They were trying to kill you a couple of weeks ago.’

Alex jumped at the sound of Clara’s voice. Belligerent, a few tones lower than usual, the way it always went when she was trying to sound offhand and invulnerable. Something she’d picked up from Roberta. Yassen’s expression was amused as he regarded her over Alex’s shoulder. Alex took one step to the side, so as to be able to watch both their faces during the exchange that followed.

‘It was nothing personal,’ Yassen explained. Alex chuckled silently at the old phrase. ‘It depends upon whether one is an asset or a liability.’

‘Aren’t you a little bit worried about the next time they try to turn around and kill you?’

‘You don’t understand, child. If one falls foul of both Scorpia and the intelligence services, there is nowhere one may hide. I’m safer in the fold than out, as it were.’

‘But I –’ Clara struggled, and for a moment anger won out over fear. ‘I thought you _liked_ us!’

‘Ah!’ Alex hissed, an exasperated sound through clenched teeth. _Clara, you_ trusted _him! Just because he played the violin nicely and made intelligent comments you trusted him and thought he could be one of your friends…_

Yassen tilted his head a little. ‘I do.’

‘You’re a _coward_ ,’ Clara screamed, her voice rising to a hysterical note on the last word. She pointed a finger, backing up at the same time as though to put distance between herself and her own recklessness. ‘You met us and liked us, you could change, you _should_ change, but you don’t because you’re too afraid to live differently from how you did before –’

‘Why do you say _us_ as though it is us and them?’ Yassen took a step forward, raising the gun again. Clara gave a squeal and clutched at Alex’s arm. ‘You think that because I can be civil with you “good” guys I must come over to your “good” team?’ He paused, and collected himself. ‘Remember what I told Alex in the car, when you were eavesdropping? People do good and evil things. It is pointless to discriminate. I would tell you to grow up, but…’

Alex seized hold of Clara and manhandled her behind him, spinning to face Yassen. ‘Alright, you know the drill,’ he snarled. ‘If you kill her, you go through me.’

Yassen considered him for a moment. Alex stood perfectly still, his hands behind him, gripping Clara’s arms, painfully aware of the acceleration of his breathing. Then he saw something close behind the blue eyes.

‘How many times have I risked my life for you, Alex?’ Yassen asked softly. ‘It is as you yourself have told me; you are not your father. You keep throwing yourself back into this world that does not concern you; I cannot protect you forever.’ He sighed. ‘I suppose you and John chose opposite sides after all.’

And Alex was staring down the black muzzle of the gun.

Heart pounding. Knees like water. A crash of adrenaline, like wiping out on a surfboard, blurring his vision, fragmenting his thoughts. Just the scream of the survival instinct in his ear. _Move, Alex, move! Fight, fight, fight! Run, run run!_

_My father wasn’t a killer._

One stupid speck of pride reared its head. He was sick of haggling over what his parents had or hadn’t done. It was irrelevant. What good could it do? He kept his mouth shut.

Clara didn’t.

‘You’re wrong!’ she screamed. ‘He was on Alex’s side! Alex told me the whole story: all the time he was with Scorpia he was really working for MI6!’ Alex felt her draw a heaving breath.

‘He was _spying on you_!’

Images, chopped and shuffled by the panic in his mind. Yassen stunned. Yassen recoiling. Clara’s fingers digging into his wrists. The gun slipping from Yassen’s hand, tumbling, hitting wet leaves, bouncing up, falling again. Rain and wind. Shock.

And then he was suddenly jerked back to himself by a dry, smug voice, which spoke surprisingly close behind him.

‘Well, well, well.’ A slight Australian accent distorted the vowels. ‘How very theatrical. Forgive my interruption.’

His stomach felt as though it had dropped twenty stories. Gasping, Alex whirled around, dragging Clara with him, not knowing whether to shield her from the danger in front or the danger behind.

He found himself face to face with a dark, smirking figure.

It was Ash.


	31. Capture

Yassen dived for the gun. Alex felt a breath of wind on his face as Ash streaked past him, there was a crack and a grunt, and almost before he could turn to watch the Russian was lying spread-eagled on the ground, while Ash bent to scoop up the pistol.

‘Don’t make any sudden movements,’ he instructed, pointing it first at Alex and then at Clara. Yassen groaned and tried to rise to his hands and knees. Ash knocked him back down again, cracked him over the head with the pistol for good measure, and then hauled him up and slung him over one shoulder like a sack of meal.

‘This way,’ he said, gesturing with the gun and striding off into the undergrowth. Alex glanced at Clara, then took her hand and followed. A few steps into the bushes they saw what Ash was making for. Two Scorpia guards were waiting, standing over the other three Non-Conformists. Jane was breathless and dishevelled, Taylor’s shirt was torn, and blood was trickling into Josh’s eye from an ugly cut on his forehead. They looked up at Alex with undisguised fear as he approached.

‘We managed to get all three of them out of the car while you and Gregorovich were having your little confrontation,’ Ash explained. Clara jumped; it hadn’t even occurred to her to wonder what her friends were doing when she was staring down the muzzle of the gun.

‘They put up quite a fight, considering,’ Ash went on. ‘This one scratches like a hellcat, don’t you, sweetheart?’ He nudged Jane under the chin with the gun. She made a hissing sound and opened her mouth to retaliate, but Alex shook his head infinitesimally at her. He wouldn’t see his friends shot for cheek while there was still a way out of this.

‘Get them on their feet; we’re heading back to the complex,’ Ash ordered. Alex shook his head as the other three were hauled to their feet, trying to figure out how this had all gone so drastically wrong. Clearly the compound hadn’t been as deserted as Yassen had promised. Julia Rothman was there, and Ash, and at least two guards. A trick? Certainly. But Yassen’s? He glanced sidelong at the Russian’s head, jolting awkwardly against Ash’s back. Probably not.

They headed back to the compound at a brisk march, Ash bringing up the rear with the gun trained on Alex’s back. He tried to ignore the sick feeling it gave him, and to think calmly. At least they had been left with their hands untied, but he didn’t see what he could do. He had seen how fast Ash was in that split-second attack against Yassen. There really was nowhere to run.

‘Taylor?’ Clara called timidly, making him jump. ‘You okay?’

‘Yeah,’ Taylor’s voice came back, shakily. ‘They grabbed me first; I didn’t really have time to do much. Josh got the worst of it.’

‘So I see.’

‘He got in a wicked punch first, though. I bet it’ll bruise.’

‘Hey, enough chat,’ Ash interrupted sharply. Clara sighed and bowed her head.

They were frogmarched into the complex – through the main gate this time, rather than over the wall – and round the back, to the area he and Snake had covered before. They headed straight past the hospital area, down a ramp and into a red brick corridor, dingily lit with yellow bulbs.

‘Hey, Gregorovich?’ Ash said.

‘Yes?’ came the Russian’s voice, controlled and slightly sardonic despite his predicament.

‘I’m going to put you down now; I’m getting sick of hauling you around.’

‘As you wish,’ Yassen answered coolly. The words earned him a sharp jolt before Ash tipped him off his shoulder and onto his feet, immediately spinning him round and twisting his arms behind him. Yassen swayed for a moment, finding his feet, head bowed and shoulders slumped in a way Alex had never seen before. He still looked dazed, and purplish bruises were blooming on his forehead where Ash had hit him. Clearly he could expect no help from that quarter. Alex gritted his teeth. Where were K Unit?

They reached a door with panes made of clear, toughened plastic. In the corridor beyond, Alex saw a row of cells. His stomach went cold.

One of Ash’s men unlocked the doors and thrust them back, and the two of them headed into the passage. One of them fumbled with the lock on the first cell, while the other used his gun to cover the people inside. Alex craned his neck to see. Five people standing against the wall with their hands up – his heart sank – K Unit and…and…

‘ _Rob_!’ Clara’s hand was wrenched from his as she sprinted into the cell and flung her arms around Roberta. Alex’s mouth fell open. He wanted to laugh hysterically, his spirits rising in spite of himself. In the face of everything that had gone wrong tonight, they had done one thing right. Roberta was here.

‘Yes, there she is, all safe and sound,’ Ash said. He turned to Alex and gestured with the gun. ‘Now, why don’t you lot follow your friend’s example and head nicely into the cell?’

Alex supposed there wasn’t really much choice. He, Josh, Taylor and Jane stepped slowly into the cell, with Yassen bringing up the rear. Alex about-faced just as Ash rammed the sliding metal door home.

‘There we are; nice and snug,’ he sneered through the bars. ‘Now I’ll go fetch Julia, shall I?’

The cold smile disappeared, and his eyes flicked sideways to Yassen. ‘I’ll settle with you later, Gregorovich,’ he breathed. ‘Look forward to it…’

He turned – more of a flicker than a movement, it was so sharp – and exited the cell block. The guards formed up and followed him silently. Not a word, not a glance. Alex wondered for a moment where Scorpia and the other evil maniacs of the world found such an unlimited supply of amoral puddings. _Secondary school_ , he decided bleakly. _Where else?_

‘What a prize man-bitch.’

Alex turned to see Roberta sitting slumped against the wall on the narrow cell bed, staring at them from blearily rebellious eyes. She held out a hand with a crumpled pink packet.

‘Gum?’

‘Rob!’ Clara howled again, burying her face in Roberta’s shoulder, and watching, Alex thought he could understand how she felt; how just hearing that deep, sardonic voice again, unchanged despite everything, could make one break down and cry with relief in the middle of the worst-case scenario.

‘Alright, Clara, you don’t need to strangle me,’ Roberta said, pushing her off. She fixed Alex with a challenging stare. ‘Rider, you guitar-fail, where’s my hug?’

‘No way,’ he said, backing away and immediately coming up against the cell door, an unwelcome reminder of their current predicament. He looked at Roberta more closely. ‘You look like a train crash.’

‘I know,’ Roberta groaned, closing her eyes again. That in itself was alarming; she wasn’t one to take an insult lying down.

‘What happened?’ he asked, crossing to the bed and sitting down on her other side, wrapping an arm around her shoulder despite his earlier denial.

‘I don’t remember too good…’ Roberta rubbed a hand across her eyes. ‘I was…walking and sulking…never mind what I was doing; and something wooshed up behind me…I found out later they were using hoverboards…that’s neat, huh?’

‘Woah,’ Eagle said. ‘You mean Gregorovich was telling the truth about all that technology?’

‘Yeah, pretty much,’ Roberta nodded.

‘Actually it is pretty neat,’ Clara said, grinning. She caught Alex’s incredulous look. ‘What, I’ve always wanted a hoverboard, alright? Carry on, Rob.’

‘Yeah, so then that guy Ash hit me really hard on the back of the head and when I woke up I was in a room somewhere…I couldn’t really think after being knocked out and they handcuffed me in a car and brought me here, and then I yelled a lot and I bit someone and then I’m pretty sure I had some kind of a panic attack…pathetic I know, but there you go…and they gave me something and I blacked out for a bit and when I woke up _those_ two –’ she pointed at Snake and Wolf – were standing outside the cell, staring at me with really stupid expressions on their faces, which turned out not to be that misleading because then the main door to the cell block locked automatically behind them, which anybody could have anticipated really, and after a minute a couple of guards showed up and put them in here with me. Which gets me to my main question.’ She sat up a little straighter and raked the rest of them with a dark glare. ‘How the _hell_ did you guys manage to screw up so badly?’

‘It was Gregorovich’s fault,’ Wolf said at once.

‘Well, never trust an assassin,’ Roberta remarked dryly. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be the unit leader or something?’

‘Oh, shut up.’

‘Well,’ Clara said, seeing that no-one else was about to begin telling the story, ‘the day after you’d got kidnapped, once we’d realised you were gone and weren’t answering your phone, we all panicked a bit…and then Yassen said that he thought he knew where they were taking you, and he mentioned this place. So we drove up here –’

‘What, all of you?’ Roberta interrupted. ‘You idiots.’

Clara rolled her eyes. ‘I know. But we weren’t planning on coming in to get you. We took the Jeep and my car, drove from the place we were staying to somewhere close to this compound, and then we were going to wait there while K Unit and Alex and Yassen went in to get you. Then nothing happened for a while until Yassen came back out and –’ She stopped.

‘And what?’ Roberta asked.

‘Well, we’ll get to that,’ Clara muttered. ‘Guys, tell us what went down while we were waiting?’

‘We got in alright and split up to look,’ Alex said. He flicked a glance at Yassen. ‘Everything was quiet, just like he said it would be –’

‘Except that it wasn’t,’ Fox broke in. ‘Wolf sent me and Eagle to check the perimeter, and about half-way round we passed a doorway and about half a dozen guards came out. Knocked us down and gagged us before we knew what was happening.’

‘Yeah, they brought you in just after Wolf and Snake showed up,’ Roberta nodded.

‘What were you two doing together?’ Eagle demanded, turning to Wolf. ‘I thought Snake was partnered with Rider and you were partnered with Gregorovich.’

‘I _was_ ,’ Wolf growled, ‘but then he ditched me.’

‘ _What_?’ Eagle said incredulously. Then he started to laugh.

‘It’s not bloody funny!’ Wolf snarled.

‘Seriously,’ Eagle sniggered. Alex wondered if they might not all be a bit hysterical. ‘I thought that the whole point of you being with Gregorovich was so you could keep an eye on him. How’d you manage to let him slip away?’

‘He was a little distracted,’ Yassen murmured.

‘Distracted? By what?’

‘Alright, alright.’ Wolf swallowed. ‘We were checking offices on the first floor of the main building, and I walked into this room and…there was a heart.’

‘A heart?’ Eagle echoed blankly. ‘Like on a tray?’

‘A beating heart in a tank!’

‘Woah. Like, alive?’

‘Yes, you idiot! It was floating in some kind of liquid and tubes were taking blood in and out of it and it was fucking _beating_. So I was – interested in this and I stopped to look for a moment, and when I looked round the fucker was gone.’ He jerked his head at Yassen.

‘I did tell you this was a research facility,’ Yassen said. ‘Oh, and I found out what the heart was for, by the way. When they make people like Ash, they have to do hours’ worth of complex deep surgery. Replacing bones with ceramic; artificial fibres to strengthen the muscle tissue…the liquid Wolf saw was a growth medium in which organs and tissues can survive during the operation.’

‘He’s telling the truth,’ Alex put in, when he saw that nobody else seemed inclined to respond to this. ‘Snake and I found a kind of a ward-type place and an operating theatre just before you found us, Wolf.’

‘After I’d lost Gregorovich I went looking and bumped into those two,’ Wolf resumed, gesturing to Alex and Snake, ‘and _where the hell_ did you go, Cub? I was talking to Snake, telling him Gregorovich was missing, and when I looked around you’d _bloody well disappeared._ ’

‘I went looking for Yassen,’ Alex said, unrepentant.

‘What, on your _own_?’

‘Yeah, sure. He and I go way back. I thought I’d have a better chance of stopping him from doing anything bad on my own than with you lot hanging off me…’ he ignored Wolf’s furious splutter… ‘and besides, I had a hunch as to where he might be.’

‘And were you right?’ Wolf asked coldly.

‘Unfortunately, yes,’ Alex sighed. ‘Outside the compound, shooting Clara.’

There was a long, stony silence.

‘I would kill you,’ Roberta told Yassen, ‘but it looks like Scorpia are about to do it for me.’

‘Are you sure of that?’ Yassen asked. ‘When I met Julia Rothman she offered me a job.’

‘But you’re in a cell with us, though.’

‘Fair point.’

‘We saw it go down,’ Taylor said in an odd, choked voice. ‘Clara had gone to sit in the other car, you see – we were all in the Jeep, but then we thought it might be good to have a driver in each car, so she moved over to the convertible – then we saw Yassen come and she got out of the car to talk to him, and we were just about to get out too but then someone knocked on the window.’ He paused. ‘And it was that Ash guy and a bunch of guards.

‘So all the time Yassen and I were having our showdown, you guys were being dragged out of the car by bad guys?’ Clara asked, ‘and I didn’t notice? I’m such a bad friend.’

‘Well, you were distracted. We tried to put up a bit of a fight, but then they got us into the bushes and made us be quiet while they waited to see what Yassen would do. It was…not that easy to watch.’ He swallowed. ‘You were awesome, Al.’

‘Oh, come on,’ Alex said, shrugging awkwardly. ‘So, Yassen. What the hell did you bring us here for? Because it seems like a pretty roundabout way of killing Clara. Were you trying to prove yourself to Scorpia again, or something?’

‘No, though that’s a very good guess,’ Yassen answered. ‘Actually I had discovered that this was the research facility where any information on what had been done to me was likely to be stored. I wanted an excuse to come here with protection and find out, and, well, it did not seem impossible that they might have brought Roberta here. And it turns out I was right.’

‘Hurrah for you. So, did you find anything out?’

‘Yes. It turns out I was telling the truth when I told you Scorpia had operated on my brain. After your father was killed, Alex, it seems I had a sort of breakdown, of which I now remember nothing. So Scorpia conducted a little surgery to – ah – restore my frame of mind.’

‘Seriously?’ Wolf snorted and leaned back against the cell wall. ‘Well, what do you know?’

‘But if you’ve been in an…an altered frame of mind all these years,’ Clara said. Yassen looked up with an expression of polite interest. ‘Then doesn’t that make you arguably innocent?’

‘One would need some skill in the art of debate to argue that,’ Yassen said, smiling.

‘My point is that if you’ve found out all those things weren’t _you_ , you don’t have to carry on in the same way anymore; you could change –’

‘Oh my God, he tried to shoot you ten minutes ago and you’re already going all redemptionist on him?’ Roberta interrupted. ‘You idealistic fig.’

‘It takes effort to change one’s whole life,’ Yassen pointed out. ‘Besides, as I explained to you earlier, Clara, good and evil as you see them are not rigidly defined. John Rider was a good man to me, and fought on the side that you would call evil.’ He drew up his legs in front of him and rested his cheek on his knees. ‘Except he wasn’t.’

He was the oldest person in the room, but for a moment he looked more like a lost child than anything else. Alex supposed they all did, a bit: slumped, falsely calm, shoulder-to-shoulder round the edges of a cell that couldn’t have been built for more than two people. Now that he came to think of it, he hoped that Scorpia weren’t planning to leave them in there for any length of time. He was comfortable enough perched on the bed for the moment, but that couldn’t last long. Taylor’s stretched-out legs reached from the wall to the bed.

‘Wait,’ Eagle said, ‘I’m hecka-confused.’

Alex sighed. ‘My father was this double-agent working for MI6, trying to infiltrate Scorpia,’ he explained. ‘And he trained Yassen. Which is why Yassen generally doesn’t kill me and why I wanted to look for him on my own. Now can we not discuss it anymore?’

‘Just one more question, please,’ Yassen said. ‘I presume he was not really killed by MI6 on the bridge?’

‘No. That was a setup to get him out.’

‘Then how…?’

Alex shrugged, swallowing something hard in his throat. ‘Scorpia found out. Bomb in a plane. Ash planted it.’

Yassen nodded calmly, but for one instant his eyes flashed. ‘I see,’ he said quietly.

‘Mrs Rothman tricked me,’ Alex said, his voice rising. ‘When you sent me to Scorpia she showed me footage of Albert Bridge and said MI6 had done it when really she ordered the death herself. And I did a mission with Ash. He pretended to be working with me when he’d been a double-agent ever since he –’ he stopped.

Yassen took a deep breath, shaking his head slowly. Then he spoke.

‘Clara? I apologise.’

‘Oh,’ Clara said. Alex twisted his head sideways to try and get a glimpse of her expression. ‘Well, I’d say that’s okay, but I think Roberta would hit me. And Alex would tut.’

‘Yes, we would,’ Roberta agreed. ‘You got any eyeliner? I’m a bloody mess.’

Clara wordlessly handed over a stick of kohl and a pocket mirror, and Roberta began to slap on fresh sweeps of eyeliner straight over the old. As her eyes gained definition, her whole face seemed to grow sharper and more alert.

‘That’s better,’ she declared, snapping the mirror shut. She looked at Yassen over the top of it. ‘You really were shit-scared, weren’t you, Gregorovich?’

‘Don’t attempt to psychoanalyse me, please, Roberta.’

‘Sorry.’ Roberta tapped the side of her head. ‘Psychology student, you know. But you’re right; it’s a load of bullshit.’ She sighed once. ‘You know, Clara bullied me out of smoking as well. That was a life change it sucked to make.’

‘Well, I would say it was one that was worth it.’

 ‘Yeah.’ Roberta stared hard at him for a few seconds, her expression unfathomable. ‘Hey, did you say Mrs Rothman was here?’

‘Yes.’

Roberta slumped back against the wall. ‘Well, that makes my fucking night. It is night-time, right?’

‘Such _language_ , dear,’ said a voice from the hall. ‘Yes, it is night-time. Now, are you all caught up, as they say? Good.’

Julia Rothman stepped into view in front of the cell bars, followed by Ash and three armed guards.

‘Say,’ said Josh, who was sitting against the back wall of the cell, directly opposite the door, ‘aren’t you the one who trespassed in my garage?’

‘And commented on your lovely drum kit. Yes, I am.’ Mrs Rothman paused, taking them all in. ‘It seems you have decided to return the favour by trespassing in my research facility.’

‘Well, you kidnapped Rob,’ Josh pointed out. ‘We thought you were inviting us.’

‘Indeed. I was rather hoping you would decide to “join the party,”’ Mrs Rothman agreed. She turned to Ash. 'Mr Howell?'

Ash stepped forward. 'I've searched their cars as you asked,' he said. He gestured to one of the guards, who was laden down with several objects. 'A coat, an i-pod, a packet of cigarettes and a lighter, a pistol; army issue, and an electric guitar.'

'Hand me that last item,' Mrs Rothman said.

'Hey...' Roberta began.

'Oh yeah.' Alex sighed deeply. 'Sorry, Rob, I forgot to mention...I stole your guitar. Borrowed, that is. With intent to return if I saw you, seeing as you wanted me to start learning rhythm...'

'Don't touch it, you fucking  _bitch_!' Roberta snarled, jumping up off the bed.

Mrs Rothman ignored her. 'An interesting selection,' she remarked. 'I wonder what gadgets they have managed to work in?'

'Give it  _here_!'

'No gadgets,' Alex said heavily, pulling Roberta away from the cell door. 'It's just a guitar.'

'I believe our young heros are unequipped as they claim,' Mrs Rothman said. 'However, I don't feel inclined to give this guitar back now.' She leaned it against the wall of the corridor. Alex glanced sideways at Roberta and saw that her eyes were fixed on it, expression yearning. He knew how she felt. You could be in the most dire situations and still wish for tiny things: a hug from your friend, a glass of water, your favourite song...

'Well, Mr Howell.' Mrs Rothman gazed around the cell again, and for a moment delighted triumph was transparently obvious on her face. 'I must admit, I'm impressed. When he first kidnapped young Roberta I was a little annoyed at his recklessness, you see,’ she added as an aside through the bars, ‘but now look! Both Alex Rider and Yassen Gregorovich apprehended, five teenage subjects and a full SAS unit into the bargain! A sprat to catch a mackerel, I’m sure you will agree.’

‘Subjects?’ Jane asked flatly.

‘Why, hasn’t Yassen explained to you?’ Mrs Rothman fluttered. Beside Alex, Clara was grinding her teeth. ‘The brain surgery we used on him fifteen years ago has been considerably improved – ’ She gestured to Ash – ‘and we want to see if it will work on a respectable citizen. That was the ostensible aim that would have made Roberta’s kidnap worthwhile, and now, as I said – five! And then there are you four men…’ Her eyes drifted over K Unit. ‘Yes, I will be very interested to see whether it works on you,’ she whispered.

‘ _Fuck_ no!’ Taylor shouted, leaping towards the cell door. One of the guards raised a gun; Alex grabbed Taylor around the chest and wrestled him down.

 _‘Don’t be an idiot_ ,’ he hissed. He stared up at the people on the other side of the bars. Julia Rothman was smirking now, her eyes alight with cruel pleasure. But Ash didn’t look entirely happy.

‘What about Gregorovich?’ he demanded.

Mrs Rothman turned to him, smiling. ‘Don’t fret, Mr Howell; I haven’t forgotten.’ She looked at Yassen. ‘You failed to complete your assignment, Mr Gregorovich. How many chances do I have to give you? Well, if Scorpia cannot have your admirable services one way, we can have them another. The operating theatre is up and ready to go.’ She smiled coldly. ‘Did you really think that you would be able to simply walk into a Scorpia facility? We were expecting you. And now you’re going to be the first.’

She gestured, and one of the guards stepped forward, gun raised, and slammed back the barred door to the cell.

‘Line up against the wall,’ he ordered. The others looked to Alex, but at a nod from him they drew back. K Unit had already obeyed.

Wolf looked to be mouthing obscenities. Alex could practically hear the wheels spinning in his mind, but he wasn’t coming up with anything.

‘No,’ Yassen said quietly. He still looked composed, but very pale.

‘Yes,’ Mrs Rothman said. She wasn’t smiling any more, but Alex could see it in her eyes. ‘It will be nice to have you back on board. And who knows; once you’re done in the theatre, maybe we can have you take care of your precious Alex Rider yourself.’ Her gaze flickered to the side, meeting Alex’s directly. ‘I’m afraid that you are one person on whom it would be quite useless to experiment, my dear,’ she said. ‘I would much rather see you dead.’

Ash’s eyes gleamed. Yassen was on the balls of his feet, instinctively searching for an escape route, though there was obviously none. One of the guards seized his arm; the other pointed his gun at the rest of them.

‘Yassen!’ Roberta said suddenly. He half-turned. She pushed forward – Alex caught his breath as the second guard raised his gun – got a hand around the back of his neck and kissed him full on the mouth.

The first guard twisted both Yassen’s arms behind his back and pulled. Yassen bent his head, leaning into the kiss as he was dragged backwards. Roberta moved with him until the second guard jabbed his rifle into her chest; then Alex seized her hand and pulled her back.

Yassen paid no heed to the guards as he was manhandled out of the cell. His eyes locked with Roberta’s, then with Alex’s, not blinking until he was pulled out of sight down the corridor. Mrs Rothman spared them one derisive glance and then followed.

Roberta took a gasping breath. It might have been a sob. She was gripping Alex’s hand so tightly that he thought she might break his fingers.

‘ _Fuck,_ ’ he said loudly.

*     *     *

Yassen didn’t think he’d ever been thinking so hard of ways to escape in his life, but it wasn’t doing him any good. There was a guard on either side of him, one behind with the gun, and, more to the point, Ash. They were taking no chances.

He sucked in air, wanting to scream. Roberta’s kiss burned on his lips; Clara’s words rang in his ears. _You don’t have to carry on in the same way anymore…you could change…_ It was so strange…in a way he felt freer than he had ever done before, almost _happy_ …but only for a few minutes more. _Stupid, weak_ …Roberta was right; going to shoot Clara had been just like having another cigarette when you were supposed to be giving up smoking. Too cowardly to take the tough option. _Maybe I could have got us all away if I’d fought Rothman straight away; if I hadn’t been so indecisive…but I didn’t know about_ John…

‘May I speak to you, Mrs Rothman?’ Ash said behind him.

‘Of course.’ The rap of Julia Rothman’s high heels on the floor stopped. She spoke to the guards. ‘Take him on to the theatre. Stay on guard once he’s in.’ The guards marched Yassen off round a turn in the corridor, and she and Ash were alone.

‘Yes, Ash?’

‘Having Gregorovich kill Rider…it has poetic justice, but I’m worried about what kind of stunt Rider’ll pull if we leave him locked in there. Shouldn’t we just…’

Mrs Rothman gave him her _don’t-criticise-me-please_ look. ‘I would dearly love to make Alex Rider suffer,’ she said coldly. ‘However, in this case I am inclined to agree with you – though of course the point had already occurred to me. I thought that the idea of having one kill the other was worth mentioning at the time, just to worry them a little, but you are right. We are serious people.’

She pointed back down the corridor.

‘Go and kill Rider. Do it now.’

*     *     *

‘That _BITCH!_ ’ Roberta shrieked, slamming her fist into the metal bars. ‘ _OW!_ ’

‘Oh, bloody hell,’ Jane muttered.

‘Okay, everyone,’ Wolf said loudly, ‘just keep calm, we’re going to think of a way out of this –’

‘Everybody _quiet_!’ Clara bellowed. Silence fell. Wolf gaped at her.

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Rob, I need your bra.’

‘ _What_?’ Roberta exclaimed incredulously. ‘No; get your own bra!’

‘Sorry, it’s got to be yours,’ Clara said.

‘ _Fine_ ,’ Roberta huffed. ‘All you fish turn your backs.’

Alex turned obediently to face the wall of the cell, though he couldn’t imagine what Clara could be planning. When he turned back, Roberta was wriggling her shirt back into place and Clara was catching the bra Roberta had just thrown her.

Black lace with fuchsia-pink polka-dots. Was it ridiculous that his face was burning?

‘Thanks,’ Clara said. She bit into the fabric and ripped right along the bottom of the cups. Wolf said, ‘wow!’ and Roberta said, ‘OY!’

‘ _Relax_ , darling, I’ll make it up to you,’ Clara said with an eye-roll, tugging a length of wire out of the torn cloth.

‘Any particular reason why you’re ruining my bra?’ Roberta demanded.

‘Because Jane and I both wear tee-shirt bras. I need the underwire.’ Clara began to bend the wire back and forth, until the stressed metal broke. She held up the snapped-off length and turned to K Unit. ‘I don’t suppose any one of you fine gentlemen knows how to pick a lock?’

There was a moment’s silence. Then Wolf wordlessly stepped forward and took the wire.

‘That’s…actually a pretty good idea,’ Alex said as Wolf knelt by the door and set to work. ‘Seriously, how did you think of that?’

‘Remember that book of poems that started all this? I’m a budding author, Alex; I spend all my time figuring out ways for characters to escape from sticky situations. Always wanted to use this one.’ Clara gave a little spin. _Yup,_ Alex thought, _definitely hysterical. Still, at least she’s productive-hysterical_.

‘By the way, Rob,’ Clara said, ‘what the heck was with the whole –’

‘Shut up, shut _up_ ,’ Roberta groaned, covering her face.

‘Yeah,’ Jane muttered, ‘I was wondering that too.’

‘Alright,’ Roberta sighed. ‘The night I got kidnapped we went out in the snow, walking and talking…’

‘In the snow, in the moonlight?’ Clara asked. ‘That’s so romantic!’

‘No it wasn’t; it pretty much sucked. I tried to kiss him and he got all stressy.’

‘Ouch.’ Clara gestured with her fist. ‘I _knew_ that Russian bastard wasn’t telling us everything! Well, I’d forget it if it didn’t go too well on the snow-walk, Rob; he seemed pretty into it this time round.’

‘ _Shut up_!’ Roberta said again.

‘Hey!’ Wolf called. He pushed the door and it swung open.

For a moment they all stared at the aperture, and Alex knew what they were thinking. There could only be one reason for them not to rush immediately towards safety, and they all had to be wondering the same thing. How did things stand? What had changed? Did they care enough?

‘Yassen,’ Josh said.

Wolf heaved a huge sigh that became a growl. ‘I suppose we’re going to have to go rescue him, aren’t we?’ he snapped.

Clara looked at him sidelong, her expression darkly humorous.

‘Well, you said it.’


	32. Chapter 32

‘Quietly!’ Alex hissed. Wolf ducked through the cell door first and the others followed, Alex swinging in behind them and pulling the grille shut as he went. Roberta immediately snatched up her guitar case from where it was leaning against the wall. Alex was tempted to tell her to leave it, but he knew it would only lead to argument.

They hurried up to the end of the corridor, where the automatic doors were still sealed shut. Roberta reached them first and hesitated, looking to Alex.

He nodded. ‘Smash.’

Roberta rammed the headstock of the guitar into the toughened plastic panels. At the first blow a spider’s web of cracks appeared; at the second the neck of the guitar went straight through. Alex held his breath, but no alarm sounded. Fox and Snake darted forward and helped to push the cracked plastic out of the frame, leaving a hole big enough to climb through.

‘Mind yourselves on the edges,’ Fox said.

Out in the main corridor, Alex quickly took stock. His friends and K Unit were crowded before him, too large a group to hope to manoeuvre undetected through the complex. He took a deep breath. They’d been driving for most of the last night and it was well into the evening now; though he’d had worse, he wanted to sleep. His nerves were humming, chills pricking between his shoulder-blades. It was that horrible moment when you almost wished you were back in your cell, when anything was better than the game of hide-and-seek that was about to come.

He hoped he looked like Wolf: keyed up but focussed, and not in the least bit panicky. At least this was Wolf’s job.

‘Right,’ Wolf whispered. ‘The ward is to the left, main exit to the right. Cub and I’ll go after Gregorovich, the rest of you get out and don’t wait for us. Fox, Eagle, Snake, you’re responsible, got that?’

‘Sir,’ Snake said shortly, and the others nodded.

Wolf flapped his hand. ‘Go!’

Alex watched them hurry off down the corridor with a sinking feeling.

‘They are so screwed,’ he murmured.

Wolf was already at the corner of the corridor.

‘Hurry up, Cub!’ he called. Alex ran forward to join him. ‘Keep low…’

They ducked around the corner and, finding the corridor stretching long and empty ahead of them, broke into a sprint. Alex tried to land lightly on his toes; their footsteps seemed horribly loud to him, clattering off the walls.

‘Shit, which way?’ Wolf muttered.

‘Right!’ Alex said. The two of them swerved, to the right, and in a few more strides Alex recognised the white, sterile hospital décor closing in around them. At least they were going in the right direction – and much good would it do them. He must have been mad to let them split up and waste time when their situation was so precarious. In all probability he and Wolf would get caught before they reached Yassen. In all probability Yassen would turn on them again the second it suited him. In all probability they were all going to die.

And yet something – Clara’s search for redemption, Roberta’s search for meaning, his own need for answers – kept him pounding up this corridor back into the heart of the complex, while behind him his reason, his experience and a significant chunk of his conscience clawed at his heels and screamed at him to turn back.

*     *     *

Yassen’s old bullet wound was throbbing. The smell of disinfectant brought back memories as only a smell can: memories of the month after he had been shot by Damian Cray – the first time he had ever needed hospital care himself, and the first time he had visited a hospital since his mother had been dying.

It seemed a silly thing to worry about, but the smell and the bright lights were also giving him a headache.

Across the room from him, a woman with light blonde hair twisted tightly back from her face was snapping on a pair of latex gloves. Her pallor seemed to match the blank expression in her eyes; no lipstick or emotion to relieve the emptiness.

 _Is this yourself you’re describing?_ his mind asked wryly. Yassen considered fighting. There was a Browning 9mm pistol pressing into his spine, but he could lash backwards with his elbow, spin, take the guard by surprise…

To his right, an Indian man in a white coat was swabbing down what could only be the operating table. He had livid bruises forming on his forehead and throat – Alex or one of the soldiers had clearly already got to him, but now that he had come round he wasn’t getting any rest. And Yassen realised he was sick of killing. The man was sending occasional nervous glances his way as he worked, and thought Yassen found it pathetic that he would work for Scorpia when he didn’t have the stomach to handle violence, he didn’t have it in him to turn that scorn into murder. Oh, he was sure he still _could_ ; assassins didn’t go soft overnight. But he didn’t want to. Not after the revelation of what had happened to his mind – if not a completely clean slate, at least an emptier one than before.

What then? Fight without killing? Knock them all unconscious? Impossible! Yassen knew that if he wanted to have a prayer of battling his way out of this, he couldn’t afford a shred of mercy, or they would kill him first. But maybe that would be better than being Julia Rothman’s puppet. Whip round, land one good punch on the guard behind him, go down in a hail of hot lead and say goodbye to it all. And yet there was a part of him that still clung stubbornly to life – the part closest, perhaps, to his just-kissed lips, or to the bullet-hole that reminded him of what he had once gone through for Alex.

His wound throbbed.

‘We’re ready!’ the woman called. Yassen rose on the balls of his feet. Submit with dignity or fight?

The guards didn’t give him a chance to decide. They lifted him bodily and dragged him to the table.

‘Operating gown?’ the Indian man asked, gesturing to Yassen’s clothing.

‘Put him out first. Anaesthetic.’

The man – the anaesthetist – pulled a metal rack on wheels up beside the operating table. Bags of fluid swung from the rail at the top. He chose one, unwound a length of clear plastic tubing from it, fixed in a syringe.

One guard was pinning each of his arms, and the third his legs. The guard on his right shifted his fingers slightly so that the woman could strap a pressure cuff around Yassen’s upper arm. She tugged his sleeve up, exposing the inside of his elbow.

He had never been afraid of needles, but he felt sick now. He knew that if he didn’t fight back in the next ten seconds he wouldn’t be able to. He tensed himself – and then all of them jumped as the door banged open and hit the wall.

Alex Rider burst into the room, Wolf right on his tail. The three guards whirled round to face the new threat, and Yassen jerked upright as their hands released him.

‘Hold him down!’ the woman shrieked. One of the guards remembered himself and turned back, tackling Yassen back onto the table. At the same time he felt a stinging pain in the crease of his elbow. The anaesthetist had jabbed the needle into his vein.

The other two guards aimed their guns, but before they could fire, Alex’s hands came up. He was clutching a fire extinguisher that he must have found in the corridor outside. He squeezed the black triggers together and pressurized foam sprayed out, whipping into their eyes and blinding them. Alex dashed forward, now swinging the fire extinguisher like a club. It caught the first guard on the side of the head, crumpling him to the ground. Wolf swerved around Alex and his two antagonists and seized the guard pinning Yassen around the neck, one hand scrabbling for the holstered gun at his hip. Yassen tried to rise, but his head whirled; the strength seemed to be rushing out of him like water. Wolf and the guard disappeared out of his field of vision. He could hear a grunt, screams, the splatter of foam, a gunshot. He raised his newly-freed arm and fumbled for the needle. His fingers were already clumsy; then another hand appeared and jerked the plastic tubing. There was another stab of pain; the needle slid out of his arm and blood followed it.

‘ _Woah_ , cub, you can’t just hoick an IV out like that!’ Wolf exclaimed from somewhere behind him.

‘This is fricking anaesthetic, Wolf!’ Alex yelled, gesticulating so that the IV swung like a pendulum from his hand.

‘Oh.’ Wolf looked Yassen over. ‘Oh, shit. Can you hear me, Gregorovich?’

‘Yes.’ Yassen pushed himself gingerly upright, flexing his numbly tingling fingers. He swung himself round so that his legs slid off the operating table, stretching until his toes touched the floor.

‘That’s good; get up slowly…’ Wolf’s hand hovered above his arm, ready to catch him. Yassen breathed in deeply, took a firm hold of his mind, forcing it to work through the haze of drugs, and stood.

‘Phew!’ Alex said. ‘We may just conceivably get out of this.’

Yassen chuckled a little, rubbing a hand across his eyes. His gaze flickered over the room. None of the images he was seeing quite seemed to connect up, and it took him a few moments to ascertain that the two doctors and the guards were all lying crumpled and unconscious on the floor. Not bad. Not bad at all.

‘Fire extinguisher, Alex?’ he asked, bending to lift the extinguisher from the floor. His muscles seemed to be working, though they weren’t enthusiastic about it.

‘MI6 never give me a gun. I have to get creative.’

‘It worked very well, I must admit,’ Yassen said, and smashed the butt of the extinguisher through the screen of the surgery computer.

‘The fuck?’ Wolf demanded.

‘Ash’s brain and body modifications are the result of very recent research,’ Yassen said. ‘The information and equipment stored here may still be unique. If so, I propose to put them out of action. Pour sterilising alcohol over the surgical equipment.’

While Wolf complied, Yassen stuck a sheaf of papers into the sparking monitor of the computer. An edge began to smoulder; Yassen blew it into a flame and tossed the papers onto the operating table, now soaked and smelling sharply of alcohol. It took only seconds; the alcohol caught alight and a sheet of flame spread all over the table, floor and trolley of equipment.

‘Hopefully that will catch,’ Yassen said. ‘Where are the others?’

‘We managed to break out of the cell,’ Alex answered. ‘The others are, with a bit of luck, escaping. But I wouldn’t count on it.’

‘No.’ Yassen stepped away from the crackling flames. ‘We should hurry and find them.’

For a moment he felt not only giddy but sick, and grabbed the door-handle as the floor lurched beneath him. ‘Well, we should _walk_ , at least.’

*     *     *

Julia Rothman was staring blankly at the cell door. It was only swinging open a very little; a tiny announcement to calamity. More convincing evidence was the shattered automatic door behind her.

Mrs Rothman stamped down on one of the chunks of broken plastic, crushing it beneath her high heel. Then she rounded on the guard beside her.

‘What is the meaning of this? I thought I gave an order for a guard to be stationed here!’

‘I’m sorry, ma’am, no order came through…’

‘I don’t remember you giving any such order, Mrs Rothman,’ Ash said.

‘And what do you have to say for yourself?’ Mrs Rothman demanded, turning on him.

‘It was like this when I found it.’

‘And why didn’t you go after them straight away?’

‘Mrs Rothman, the scent trail splits out in the corridor. It seems they separated.’

‘Separated? Ridiculous! Why did they separate?’

Ash ignored the question. ‘Anyway, I thought that rather than chase after one group or the other, I would radio for you. We need to call out the guards; throw a net round the compound.’

‘You are quite right.’ Mrs Rothman collected herself. ‘In which directions to the trails lead?’

‘One group seems to be heading for the main foyer. The others are heading in the opposite direction, towards the back of the complex.’

‘I see.’ Mrs Rothman considered. ‘They may possibly be heading for the hangar. We have hoverboards there…they must not be allowed to get hold of them; it would make their capture significantly more difficult. Ash, go that way; kill anyone who appears there. You: radio the rest of the guards. Have them fan out around the front of the compound. We will go there now. Hurry.’ She swept out of the cell, her stilettos clacking.

The guard threw a frightened glance at Ash. Ash rolled his eyes almost imperceptibly and then dashed away.

*     *     *

Fox had done his fair share of shepherding kids to safety. In some ways it was a good job, because afterwards nobody claimed you’d been evil to do it. But in others it was a very bad job, because you couldn’t tell yourself, _calm down, it doesn’t matter that much, just chill and focus and pretend it’s a drill_. Be detached about kids? That would just be cold.

But sometimes he wished he could just be cold about it. Like now. They were moving in a tight bunch, with Snake and Eagle leading and himself bringing up the rear, and his stomach was churning with a mixture of fear and frustration. Why couldn’t those kids move faster? Why couldn’t they make less noise? Why couldn’t they have full military training, so that they could all split up and some of them make it to safety? This crowd of eight people was a sitting target.

But he knew that his anger with them only came from his desire to see them safe. They were damned cool kids. _Why this?_ he thought. _Why here? Why now? Fucking spies and assassins; who do they think they are?_

They had left the prison block behind and stumbled through a series of corridors that could have belonged to any small business; now they emerged into a large, open-plan room. It was a weird mix of old and modern, with blackened beams like those in a barn in the three-storeys-high ceiling, soft blueish lighting and a large, curving reception desk. Two of the walls – those facing out onto the open air rather than linking into the rest of the buildings – were made of glass, and Fox realised they were inside the main reception building they had seen when they first broke into the compound, the one which Yassen and Wolf had explored? Had they found anything – booby-traps or sensors – that he and his men would need to worry about? Too late to regret their not being here now.

Peering through the glass, now black with night, he had a clear view of the open space outside, and could even catch a glimpse of the fence. The gate – it was right there, beyond the door. Every cell in his body yearned towards it, but at the same time he felt horribly exposed, in the high-ceilinged room with the glass all around. Surely an escape was too good to be true. Surely guards would appear and drag them back.

Snake gestured, and they dashed across the open space to crouch behind the desk. Fox found himself jammed in next to Roberta, khakis to jean-clad thigh. She looked strained and dishevelled, but she also looked ready to kill. She was one certainly one person who could stand up to Scorpia, with a little training. Was she still carrying her guitar? Fox glanced at her incredulously. This girl was fucking with his perception of life. That kiss with Gregorovich? Things had already been crazy enough, but it had been at that point that he’d known his mind had snapped.

‘Probably cameras,’ Snake was whispering. ‘Not much we can do about it though. Does everybody remember where we parked the cars?’

‘Yes.’

‘Right.’ Fox took over. ‘On the word go, just run hell-for-leather for the fence. Boys – ’ Eagle and Snake – ‘wait back to help anyone who can’t vault. God help us all. Three, two, one – GO!’

He sprang over the desk, and all hell broke loose.

Black-uniformed figures were spilling into the room from the staircase and from the outer door, running to cover the whole hall, closing in. There was a crack, and a searing pain in his leg. It didn’t feel like a thread of fire; it felt like being kicked by a mule. The muscle simply dropped him, and he fell, taking in the rest of the scene in flashes. Taylor was trying to drag Clara down and put both their hands up at the same time. A guard went to grab Josh, and Josh landed one hell of a punch. Jane happened to be between Eagle and Snake, and they both moved automatically to shield her, raising their hands. Roberta had shrugged her guitar off her shoulders and into her hands, holding it as though she was going to stab someone with the headstock. She whirled, her face a battle-mask, rounding on some unseen enemy – then a guard grabbed her from behind, sending her sprawling.

The guitar clattered at the feet of Julia Rothman.

One hand on his leg, which didn’t seem to be bleeding too badly, though it hurt like hell, Fox dragged himself up on one elbow. Mrs Rothman, incongruously groomed and satisfied opposite the guards and their breathless captives, was walking slowly into the middle of the room. Each click of her high heels sounded loudly in the sudden quiet.

‘Well, well,’ she asked, ‘taking a walk, are we?’

Roberta’s teeth clenched and she shifted as though she would spring. Mrs Rothman smiled, and brought her foot down squarely on the guitar.

The Non-Conformists had spent so long being shouted at by Roberta for so much as touching that guitar that their screams came before hers did. Roberta gasped and then stopped breathing all together, all the blood training from her face. The stiletto heel came down again, this time on the fret board, there was a snap, and Roberta shrieked and threw herself and Mrs Rothman.

The guard who had knocked her down before jumped after her, grabbing both her arms from behind.

‘You bitch!’ Roberta howled. ‘You evil murdering motherfucking bitch –’

‘Rob!’ Clara said, short and sharp. She didn’t have to add anything. Her words cut off Roberta’s screams like a knife. Roberta went completely still and closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again they were full of calm contempt.

Clara’s mouth was trembling and her eyes full of tears, but she met Roberta’s gaze steadily over Mrs Rothman’s shoulder. For a moment you could have heard a pin drop in the high-ceilinged reception.

‘Well, if you will bring it into dangerous situations, what do you expect?’ Mrs Rothman said, lifting her foot off the guitar. Clara was reminded of a story a university admissions officer had told at school about students who had prepared speeches for their interviews and ploughed on with them no matter what the interviewers said.

‘I think your little excursion is over,’ Mrs Rothman continued. ‘Don’t you think all this breaking in and breaking out is rather tiresome?’

‘Tiresome?’ Roberta barked a laugh. ‘Come on! We’re _teenagers_ and we still got out! If it had just been Alex and K Unit they’d have beaten you! We almost beat you as it is!’

Mrs Rothman laughed too; hers was a tinkling scream in disguise. ‘Almost beat us? Your little friends only gained access to this compound because we allowed them.’

‘And it’s because you “allow” them that it’s so fucking hilarious. You guys just sit around killing yourselves with your own smugness. Alex is ten times better than the best man in your whole self-satisfied evil corporation; he beat Scorpia twice, he beat _you_ so many times I’ve lost count –’

‘But what difference does it make to you in your present situation, my dear? You have made your fair share of naïve misjudgements of character, if I may say so; they have landed all of you here, and here you will die. You are nothing but a dramatic little madam –’

‘And you are a sad, crazy, twisted old lady. Now get out of my face; I can see the streaks in your foundation.’

Mrs Rothman’s eyes flashed. Her hand darted, and suddenly she was holding a pistol. She aimed it point-blank between Roberta’s eyes.  ‘You’ll be the first!’ she snarled.

Roberta glanced to the side, looking at something over Mrs Rothman’s shoulder. Mrs Rothman registered the gesture, just as an arm went round her neck, jerking her backwards away from Roberta. Her hand with the gun flew outwards; before she could bring it round, a sharp point jabbed into the side of her neck. She froze.

Alex and Wolf came bursting into the room and skidded to a halt, taking in the scene. Yassen had been a few strides ahead of them, and even in the midst of the crisis Alex found himself marvelling at how quickly the Russian had taken control of the scene. The Non-Conformists and K Unit were surrounded by maybe a dozen armed men, but Yassen was holding Julia Rothman, the end of the wire they had used to break out of the cell poised at her throat, and none of them dared to fire.

Roberta blew a large, pink bubble in her gum.

‘Put down your weapons!’ Yassen ordered.

The guards hesitated.

‘Put them down, for goodness’ sake!’ Mrs Rothman cried.

There was a scramble as the guards hurried to obey. One by one they crouched down, placing their guns on the ground.

‘Take the pistol, please, Roberta,’ Yassen said, nodding down and Mrs Rothman’s gun. ‘I can’t move my hands.’

Roberta darted forward and twisted the pistol out of Mrs Rothman’s grasp. She tilted it to examine the gleaming black barrel, popping her gum and sucking it slowly back into her mouth.

‘Cool,’ she said.

Yassen tugged Mrs Rothman back a step.

‘K Unit, take a gun each.’

‘Can I have one?’ Alex asked eagerly.

‘No!’ Yassen snapped.

‘You let _Roberta_ –’

‘Oh, very well. A pistol. _Not_ a machine-gun.’

‘Yes!’ Alex grinned, darting past him to snatch up one of the pistols. K Unit had finished arming themselves. Keeping a tight hold on Mrs Rothman, Yassen nodded to the guards.

‘Now line up against the wall. Don’t speak. Do not attempt to move. Everybody, walk towards the exit.’

He began to shuffle backwards towards the door, still pulling Mrs Rothman with him. The others grouped together and followed.

‘Can we get all the way back to the cars like this?’ Alex whispered, falling in beside Yassen.

‘No.’ Yassen’s face was tight. ‘They’ll follow us; they can surround us once we get into the woods. We need a quicker way.’ He tugged on Mrs Rothman’s hair. ‘How can we get out?’

For a moment Mrs Rothman stayed silent. Her teeth were gritted and her eyes shut tight. Then she spoke in a thick, reluctant voice.

‘The biggest of the out-buildings. There are hoverboards. A dozen.’

‘Perfect.’ Yassen spun them both round so that he could walk forwards. Ahead of him, Taylor threw open the door, letting the frosty night air rush in.

‘Don’t follow us,’ Yassen threw over his shoulder, and stepped out into the night.

Gravel crunched beneath their feet. There were no stars. Light from the complex illuminated everything up to the boundary fence; beyond, the forest was in shadow.

‘Which way?’ Yassen asked. Mrs Rothman nodded her head very slightly.

‘Right.’

They veered to the side. Glancing over his shoulder, Alex saw a silhouette slip out of the building and crouch, watching them. One of the guards had disobeyed Yassen’s order – and there wasn’t a lot they could do about it. At least half the men were still armed. There might well be more elsewhere in the complex, hurrying to back them up. They were horribly exposed: Fox, Alex now noticed, was limping, Yassen was dragging Julia Rothman, the whole group formed a huge, clumped-together target and it was only Mrs Rothman’s presence in their midst which prevented the guards from picking them off one at a time.

They stopped outside one of the wooden outhouses.

‘Is this the one?’ Yassen asked.

‘Yes.’

Wolf pushed the door open and looked inside.

‘What do you see?’ Yassen called to him.

‘Boards,’ Wolf answered. ‘Two racks of them. And another door at the far end; we can go straight through and come out by the fence without presenting a target to the main building.’

‘Good. Go inside and get those boards down.’

They hurried single-file into the outhouse and Yassen heard the clatter of metal and tramping feet inside. Roberta waited, hovering in the doorway.

‘They’re working!’ Alex yelled from inside. Roberta stepped forward.

‘You know, I really should be thanking you,’ she said to Mrs Rothman, ‘because if you hadn’t sadistically smashed my guitar, I might still not have the heart to do this with it.’ She swung the guitar up. Yassen jumped clear as she brought it crashing down on Mrs Rothman’s head.

Someone must have been watching from the main building, because the instant Mrs Rothman was down, a siren whooped into life, and bright arc lamps exploded into life all around the edge of the compound, drenching every square foot in glaring white light. Hidden panels in the walls of the main building slid down, revealing machine guns set into alcoves behind them.

‘In,’ Yassen said, grabbing Roberta by the arm and pushing her forward into the outhouse. ‘Board, now.’ He turned and slammed the door to, shutting out the worst of the light.

Roberta darted down the narrow shed, filled with the bodies of her friends struggling with their boards, and slid in next to Clara, snatching a board down from its rack.

‘Cool gun,’ Clara said briskly. ‘Me jealous.’

‘Thanks,’ Roberta answered. Then she caught Clara’s arm and leaned in close, so that their hair swung to hide them from the others, and whispered, ‘are you really just talking about the gun, or is it, like, symbolism?’

Clara laughed. ‘Get in there, girl.’

‘You really think I should?’ Roberta asked, suddenly vulnerable.

‘I think that we should not count our chickens before they’re hatched, by which I mean we should get out of this before we go fishing. But yes, totally.’

Clara kick-started her board and its lifter-fans spun into life.

‘This is beyond cool!’ Taylor yelled over the roar now filling the building.

‘Uh,’ Jane said. ‘I don’t think I can balance one of these.’

‘Oh, thank God you said that,’ Clara said.

‘They can be ridden tandem,’ Yassen called.

‘Right; Jane, with me, Eagle take Clara,’ Wolf said. ‘You others – ’

‘We skate; we’ll manage,’ Josh said.

‘Fox, how’s your leg?’

‘Let’s find out,’ Fox said grimly.

‘Shit, what are we going to do about those machine guns…?’ Alex muttered, pulling the door open a crack to peer out. He looked back over his shoulder at the others. ‘Josh, what are you doing?’

Josh was on his hands and knees, reaching behind one of the racks.

‘Hang on,’ he said, ‘there’s like a thing behind here…you know…a power generator.’

‘Wait, what?’ Alex said. Josh didn’t reply. He took a firm grip on a braid of cables and pulled.

There was a whirring sound and the entire complex plunged into darkness.

‘Yes!’ Alex shouted, punching the air.

‘Go!’ Wolf yelled. Grabbing their boards, they ran down the length of the shed towards the far door. Guards must be approaching the outhouse from the main building even now, but it would take them time to find it in the dark. Nobody would be able to see them; the machine-guns, controlled by computer, would not be able to aim; they could hop quickly over the fence, lose themselves in the woods and fly to safety –

Alex skidded to a halt, and felt someone else – Taylor – slam into him from behind. The door had swung open, and a dark figure was filling it, blocking the way.

When Mrs Rothman had led them to this warehouse, she had been playing one last card. She hadn’t left it unguarded. Ash had been waiting for them.

‘Get them!’

Alex looked over his shoulder. Mrs Rothman was up on her hands and knees; she was bleeding from the head, grabbing the doorframe to try and pull herself upright.

‘Ash!’

Alex turned to face forward again. Mrs Rothman behind them, Ash in front. He gripped the gun he had taken so that his hand ached. Could he shoot? Would shooting be any use? Surely even Scorpia’s superhuman modifications couldn’t enable a man to dodge a bullet. But he couldn’t stop the helpless fear that spread through him. It was in the new slant of Ash’s eyes and his wolfen teeth. Everything about him screamed _predator_.

And he knew that he only had seconds in which to act. Any moment now, other guards would be arriving.

‘Ash,’ he whispered.

‘Kill them!’ Mrs Rothman shrieked.

There was almost no light, but Alex was sure that Ash could see them. His retinas glinted like a cat’s. Their eyes met. Ash surveyed him for a moment, as though weighing him up. Then he shifted to the side.

‘Thanks,’ Alex muttered, darting past. He felt their arms brush in the narrow exit, and then he was out. He sprinted for the perimeter fence, throwing the board down in front of him and leaping on. Just like jumping on a skate-board, except that this board, instead of running straight along the ground, rose up. He pressed with his back foot and the board tilted, flying steeply upwards to clear the fence. The fans screamed at the rapid acceleration, and he could hear from the similar noise behind him that the others were following. Then he was level again, above the fence, over it. A single shot rang out – it seemed one of the guards had managed to aim at them after all – but there were no screams, no sound of a falling body. He twisted round to look, then gave a yelp as the board lurched under him, almost throwing him off. Oh God. He had no idea how to ride this thing.

‘Shift your weight left and right to steer!’ Yassen shouted. ‘Sensors read your body-balance –’

Quickly Alex registered and copied Yassen’s stance: knees bent, arms spread for balance, centre of gravity low. Yassen leaned forward and his board accelerated. Alex copied him and found himself shooting forward, heading straight for the first of the trees. His stomach lurched. He gritted his teeth, leaning hard to the left to steer between the trunks.

The board banked. He could feel the g-forces resisting his pushing legs, at the same time holding him in place as he tilted away from the vertical. He leaned onto his right foot, bringing the board back under him. It responded to his basic motions in the same way a skateboard or a surfboard would, except this was much, much faster…

Yassen had found a more sparsely-grown route through the trees, and Alex took advantage of the straight line to test his control. Leaning left and right, as Yassen had said, turned the board. Leaning forward made it go faster; as he relaxed his crouch and stood more upright, he slowed. Pressing on the front foot made the board dip down, pressing with the back made it rise, and it seemed that the sensors could tell the difference between a person leaning forward to go faster and a person pressing harder on their front foot while keeping the position of their upper body the same. Even with the trees whipping past and God-knew-what pursuing him, he couldn’t help but marvel at the quality of the technology. A tall bush loomed up ahead of him. He leaned back a little and hopped it effortlessly. A branch swung overhead; he bent his knees without shifting his weight and the board continued straight and level while he ducked. And suddenly he wasn’t tired and scared any more. He was exhilarated. He leant forward little by little, feeling the wind whip his hair off his face, and sped up until he was inching up alongside Yassen. His outflung hands caught the air. His legs were aching with holding their crouch. He sucked in a deep breath and whooped.

He heard someone – it might have been Clara – shout something behind him. The wind reduced the words to a meaningless garble.

‘I can’t hear you!’ he called.

There was a hum of lifter fans behind him and then Clara appeared in the corner of his field of vision. Her hands were gripping Eagle’s waist with white-knuckle tightness, but at least she wasn’t clutching at him in a way that would impede his movement. He leaned to turn and she leaned with him. Not bad at all.

‘I said, “are we going back to the cars?”’ she shouted.

‘Oh, I –’ Alex began, just as Taylor whipped into view on Clara’s other side, crouched as low as he could go. ‘ _Bloody hell_ , Taylor, slow down!’

‘But it’s fun – argh!’ Taylor swerved to avoid a tree and nearly tumbled off the board.

‘Oh God,’ Alex groaned.

‘No, we are not,’ Yassen said, dropping back a little. ‘It is where they would expect. We’re less traceable in the air.’

It was true. Now that they were flying straight and level, the purr of the lifter-fans was almost inaudible; it was only when one of them climbed or dropped sharply to dodge a branch that the noise rose.

‘But my car will be okay until we get back, right?’ Clara asked.

‘You think? They’ll probably key it, douse it in petrol and set it on fire. It’s what I’d do,’ Josh said.

‘What? No!’

‘Everybody, the trees are getting thicker,’ Yassen said. ‘Please concentrate.’

They slowed as the vague trail the Russian had been leading them along faded. The next minutes were hair-raising, almost worse than being back in the compound. Alex trusted himself to more-or-less handle the turns, but he was terrified for his friends. As far as he could tell, Clara and Jane had never done a voluntary day’s sport in their lives? What about Taylor, who was so tall that he always tripped over his own feet? But somehow they all stayed with him. They kept tight on Yassen’s tail, copying his technique, imitating his route. Even a slow-enough-not-to-die pace was faster than walking, and he knew it had been a good plan. If they had tried to climb the fence and run through the woods to the cars they would never have made it. The guards would have chased them down. This was better. And, he had to admit despite the danger, somewhat cool.

Clara’s legs were aching and her eyes streaming with the wind. She wondered if this was what Zen felt like: following the whitish-grey flicker of Alex’s shirt through the blackish-grey of the forest, letting her mind go blank to everything else, trying to shift her weight with Eagle’s and not throw him off. The part of her that always insisted on overthinking everything knew that she was probably experiencing a ridiculous surge of beginner’s luck. Think about it at all and she would probably crash and die.

That didn’t stop it from being the most amazing experience on Earth, short of being on-stage.

Jane and Wolf were beside her.

‘Jane, Jane, we need to play on stage again!’

‘What?’

‘Performing, this is like performing –’

‘This is _horrible_.’

‘Oh. Sorry.’

‘Duck!’ Eagle yelled. Both of them crouched as a branch whipped over their heads.

The tangle of branches had been so thick that even without leaves they hid the sky. Now a patch of midnight-blue appeared. It was full of stars – ridiculously bright with no artificial light around – but a fleck or two of snow, blown across from some unseen cloud, drifted down. The ground was wet, the snowflakes tiny. It would be a long time before they settled.

Clara didn’t have an ounce of concentration to spare from steering, but as the patch of sky flashed past she glanced up, just for an instant. The sky was more than just sky. It was like a breath of air. In the compound, and under the trees, she had almost forgotten that it existed.

Roberta watched as a snowflake caught in Clara’s hair. The stars and snow reminded her of that walk she had taken, pushed out into the fields to think about Alex and Yassen and what the hell good and evil were, anyway. She knew that they were boarding back towards a whole mess of trouble.

Alex too noticed the gap in the trees, and noticed that the gaps were becoming more frequent, and thought that maybe that meant they were coming to the end of the forest and maybe that meant they were approaching civilisation and maybe, just maybe, that meant they might be going to get out of this alive.

Yassen noticed through the gaps that they sky was deep blue, not black, and realised, with an instinctive lifting of his spirits, that dawn was approaching.

It grew lighter and lighter. Yassen led them south, cutting off a loop of the road they’d driven up to get to the compound, heading for signs of human habitation. The Non-Conformists could now see one another’s faces – or rather glance at them, for instants, in between fraught steering – and marvel at each other’s cuts and bruises. Somehow beneath the grime and lack of sleep they still seemed to be more-or-less the same people. Jane was calmed a little by Josh’s expression. He was far away, painting in his head, and she felt that one nudge would make him forget everything and send him wandering off into the misty grey morning, up the shoulders of the hills that were now emerging as they left the trees behind, not trying to pin the view to canvas but simply drinking it in. Taylor looked Clara over, decided that she looked to be in one piece and that the battered look rather suited her, and smiled. Clara smiled back.

‘Here!’ Yassen shouted. The village came upon them suddenly, the grey thatch blending with the hill, woodsmoke mingling indistinguishably with the morning mist. They began to come down, both from their height and from their high, because that was what it had been – the high of post-mission adrenaline. It wasn’t only Josh who had felt the silent splendour of the morning – it had put Yassen more at peace than he had felt in years. Clara was overflowing with it. Even K Unit, none of them prone to flights of emotional fancy, had been appreciating it without words, just as Yassen had appreciated the realisation that it was dawn. And, as their boards skimmed lower, Clara wondered if it had been any healthier than a high. She began to realise that the calm she was feeling was in fact something like the eye of a storm: terror and danger behind them and a lot more exhaustion, awkwardness and pent-up hysteria about to follow. She hadn’t slept all night; none of them had, they had been terrified half out of their minds more times than she liked to count, worried sick, and none of them were used to this hoverboarding…

Ahead of her – and it all looked a little soundless and like a slow-motion film, which confirmed her opinion that she was very tired and should also perhaps eat something – Yassen was touching down. He seemed to land as lightly as a feather, bringing his board down until it brushed the grass, slowing and then hopping off. But when the ground rose up under her and Eagle’s feet, it didn’t do so elegantly. The board slammed into the ground and bounced one, like a skimmed stone. The impact jarred through her whole body. She heard Eagle swear. She was thrown forward, arms flailing, hit the ground and rolled to a stop. Eagle staggered forward, only just keeping his feet. Behind him, the others weren’t managing much better. And Eagle was a trained SAS man! She was suddenly very glad that she hadn’t tried to ride one of these things by herself.

Next moment Alex was there, rolling her over and helping her sit up.

‘You – you idio – slick,’ he yelled at Eagle, shaking his head.

‘Alex, you are a bloody hero,’ Clara gasped.

‘Damn straight I am. Now sit down and put your head between your knees and don’t move until I say you can. Which will be never. God.’ Alex swore for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

Taylor landed slightly more gracefully behind them. Alex shoved Clara at him and looked around. They were all there, all more-or-less in one piece. He caught Yassen’s eye for a moment and looked hastily away, and his eyes fell on Fox instead.

‘Hey, Ben!’ he exclaimed, suddenly remembering. ‘Your leg – ’

Fox, who had been bending down to roll up his trouser-leg, squinted up at him, grinning.

‘I think it’s alright,’ he said, turning his leg to examine a thin line of dried blood on his trousers. ‘It’s not bleeding any more, the bullet just clipped me.’

‘And you hoverboarded on it?’

‘I was only limping because the skin was pulling apart when I moved.’ Fox shrugged. Wolf got down on one knee to examine his leg.

‘Ew,’ Clara said, looking at the gory red line.

‘Could have been worse. Knocked me down for a moment.’

‘So how on Earth did you and Wolf manage to find Yassen without getting caught?’ Taylor asked Alex.

Alex shrugged. ‘I guess trying to rescue him was so altruistic they didn’t expect it,’ he said.

‘Sometimes stupid heroics pay off.’

‘Sometimes. I suppose Mrs Rothman thought we might head for the hover-board place, so she sent – sent Ash there to intercept us. And then she tricked us into going there.’

‘But he let us go.’

 _Thanks for bringing up the difficult topic, Taylor_ , Alex thought. But when he looked up and met Taylor’s eyes he felt suddenly calm. In all the stress Alex had almost forgotten how much he _liked_ him.

‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘He did. No idea what that was about.’

Standing a little aside from the others, Roberta slid her guitar case off her shoulders, catching it on her elbows. She hesitated, seeming about to swing it round into her hands, but then stopped and hoisted it back onto her back. Yassen, watching, understood. She was afraid of what she would find inside. Looking made it real.

He understood how she felt. When you didn’t trust people, objects mattered.

‘You were quite impressive,’ he told her.

Roberta snorted. ‘Thanks,’ she said, turning her head away. ‘…I suppose I should be thanking you for saving my life and shit.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘I find it a little weird that you’re still holding my bra wire, though.’

Yassen glanced down at his hand. It was still curled tightly around the sharp wire he had used to threaten Julia Rothman.

‘Oh, is that what it is?’ he asked, unlocking his numb fingers. He held the wire out to her. ‘I apologise.’

‘What makes you think I want it?’ Roberta snapped.

Yassen decided, just this once, to rise to the bait. ‘Must you always be so contrary?’

‘Must you always be so reasonable? Shut up laughing, you guys!’

Yassen turned to see that all the Non-Conformists were smirking at them, with the exception of Alex, who had his face hidden in his hands.

‘I think,’ Clara grinned, ‘that you’ll both feel better once you’ve had something to eat.’

‘That’s a great idea,’ Wolf said, in an oddly hearty voice; possibly he was feeling the same way as Alex. ‘Let’s ditch the boards and –’

‘No!’ Clara said loudly.

Wolf stared at her. ‘What?’

‘It’s mine!’ Clara said, clutching her board to her chest. ‘I am _not_ ditching it!’

‘Oh, come off it – ’

‘You don’t understand! I’ve been wanting one of these ever since the first time I picked up a sci-fi book! I need this board! It’s my baby!’

‘Mine’s my baby too!’ Taylor piped up.

Wolf breathed out hard through his nose. ‘Fine. Keep them.’

‘Uh, we’re _all_ keeping them, obviously,’ Roberta said. ‘This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You too, Jane. Think on it, you might change your mind.’

Clara beamed. ‘Car, hoverboard. It’s a trade.’

‘You know you’re going to really regret that,’ Alex said as they fell into step, walking down into the village.

‘When will I regret it, frog?’

‘Somewhere between here and wherever we stop walking, when you realise how heavy and awkward to carry it is.’

Clara shrugged. ‘Maybe I’ll be regretting it at that point,’ she said, ‘but for the rest of our lives, we get to have real, working hoverboards.’

‘I’m not feeling so bad about carrying this board,’ Taylor grinned, ‘because it’s worth a lifetime of favours, from like, everyone I ever meet.’

They were interrupted by Snake.

‘Where _is_ everybody?’ he demanded. They had just stepped out into the main square, with a small stone church on one side and the village hall on the other, and all the shops were dark and empty. ‘I mean, I know it’s a village at dawn, but this is ridiculous.’

‘I’m _hungry_ ,’ Eagle whined. ‘Oh God, don’t tell me nothing’s open.’

‘Of course nothing’s open; it’s the twenty-fifth of December,’ Jane said.

They all turned to stare at her.

‘Huh?’ Alex said.

‘Twenty-fifth of December,’ Jane repeated. ‘Christmas day.’ There was a pause. ‘It’s the Christmas holidays, guys. It’s all cold and wet and horrible. You must have seen this coming.’

At that moment the church bells started ringing. Their peals resounded round the square, one after another, tumbling down the octave.

‘Yes,’ Alex said, checking his watch without quite knowing why, since it only showed the time. ‘You’re absolutely right, Jane.’

‘Guess I haven’t really been keeping track,’ Roberta said dryly.

‘So nothing’s going to be open then?’ Eagle asked.

‘I doubt it,’ Yassen said. ‘But it seems to me that since we are all rather exposed standing out here alone –’

‘And cold, and hungry,’ Taylor put in.

‘Since we are all these things,’ Yassen agreed, ‘the best thing to do would be to go into the church and join the service. It will be warm, there will be witnesses in case Scorpia should happen to catch up with us, and refreshments will almost certainly be served when the service is over.’

‘Yassen,’ Clara said, ‘that is the single best idea you have had in my presence, _ever_. Let’s go.’

She led the way across the square and pushed open the door of the church.


	33. Consequences

They slipped into the church just as the organ was playing the introduction to _O Come, All Ye Faithful_. Clara, Jane and Taylor were used to singing it at the end of the church service on Christmas morning and knew it by heart, and the others were at least familiar with the tune. All the mud, blood, hair dye and ripped combat trousers earned them several disapproving looks as they tiptoed to a pew at the back of the church, but when they joined in with the carol in four-part harmony the old ladies’ glares turned to surprised approval. Standing close to Taylor, Alex found that he could follow the tenor part fairly easily. Roberta and Jane sang alto while Clara held the tune, and even K Unit followed along fairly tunefully. Clara launched into a soaring descant in the final verse.

‘ _Sing, choirs of angels, sing in exaultation…’_

Tired and exhausted though he was, and although Jack, Tom and all the other people he was used to spending Christmas with were far away and he and the other Non-Conformists had been too stressed to make any preparations back at home, Alex felt happy, belting out the carol at the top of his voice. There were worse ways to celebrate, and worse people to do it with. And maybe all the music practise Roberta had forced him to do really had paid off. He was almost doing well at this.

The carol drew to a close with a resounding set of chords on the organ, and Roberta muttered to Clara,

‘Showoff.’

Clara shrugged and grinned. ‘It’s what I do.’

The minister was raising his hands, giving a final blessing.

‘Go in the peace of Christ, to love and serve the Lord,’ he said.

Immediately a babble of voices rose up around them, as people in the congregation put down their carol sheets and turned to greet friends.

‘Great harmonising, guys,’ Clara said, high-fiving Taylor.

‘So you’re bass too?’ Josh asked Yassen. ‘Very nice.’

‘Thank you.’

Clattering sounds came from the back of the church as urns were filled and put on to boil, and trays of refreshments set out.

‘Oh my God, food!’ Taylor said, diving for the back of the church. Alex hurried after him.

‘Excuse me,’ an old lady said to them as they stood in the queue for tea and coffee. ‘I would just like to say how lovely it is to hear a group of young people singing so beautifully together.’

‘Thank you very much,’ Clara answered, beaming. ‘It’s lovely for us to find a church that still does carols the traditional way. What a wonderful organ you have here.’

‘It’s very kind of you to say so, dear. We just recently raised enough money to have it restored, you see.’

‘It shows,’ Yassen said. ‘Beautiful sound.’ Alex noticed that, whether because he was tired or by choice, he wasn’t bothering to conceal his accent, and the woman immediately asked him where he came from.

‘Russia,’ Yassen said through a mouthful of mince pie. He took a long gulp of coffee to wash it down. ‘Excuse me. Russian Orthodox Christians believe that only the instruments God gave them – voices – should be used in church, so in Russia we don’t have anything like your organ.’

‘Love organ,’ Taylor chimed in. ‘You know what’s really cool? Playing organ music on the electric guitar. Or the other way round.’ Alex wasn’t sure that any of the people now listening to their conversation would quite share Taylor’s appreciation of the electric guitar, but he spoke with such charming enthusiasm that they all laughed and nodded. ‘These are great mince pies, by the way,’ he added.

Alex caught Taylor’s eye at that point and they exchanged a sheepish grin. Taylor had five pies on his plate; Yassen was eating them at a rate of about one per mouthful. At any other time Alex would have worried about the fact that he and his friends were single-handedly demolishing the refreshments table, but right now he was just too hungry to care.

‘Lots of milk, please,’ he said to the lady who was preparing tea, and then dumped four heaped spoonfuls of sugar into the mug she gave him.

‘You look as though you needed that,’ she observed as he took a deep swig. ‘It seems you and your friends have been in the wars a bit.’

‘Yeah, uh…’

‘Duke of Edinburgh award,’ Jane said smoothly. ‘Christmas Eve isn’t really the ideal day to be doing it, but we had to find a time we could all do. And we got a bit…lost.’

‘Oh, you poor things,’ one of the tea ladies said, handing her another mince pie.

‘I blame them,’ Alex said, nodding at K Unit. ‘They were meant to be looking after us.’

‘If I’d had my way you wouldn’t have done it at all,’ Wolf said, glaring.

‘Oh, come now,’ Yassen said to him, with just a flicker of a smile. ‘I’m sure it was a learning experience for them – ’

Suddenly, the church door banged open.

Alex jumped, slopping tea over the rim of his mug, and spun round. What he saw made his stomach lurch. No less than ten armed men were dashing into the church.

‘Freeze!’ the foremost man shouted. The babble of conversation stopped. There were screams. A woman pouring tea let the hot water run over the top of the cup.

Alex was cursing himself. Had Scorpia found them so quickly? It had been stupid to come into the church, thinking that simply having witnesses present would protect them. They should have dialled 999.

‘Oh, shit,’ Eagle whispered behind him. ‘It’s the SAS.’

Alex’s jaw dropped. ‘The SAS?’ he repeated, twisting round to look at K Unit. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Please remain calm!’ The leading man had produced a loudhailer and was shouting through it, the echoes bouncing off the high stone ceiling. ‘For your own safety, we are here to apprehend dangerous criminals.’

‘Criminals in the plural?’ Clara muttered.

The man looked straight at them. ‘SAS Unit K, Yassen Gregorovich and accomplices, raise your hands!’ he ordered.

Whatever this was, there wasn’t much he could do yet – not with ten semi-automatics pointing at him. Alex put his hands up.

‘Alex, what the hell?’ Roberta whispered. Alex wished he knew, but next moment the question as to the identity of their assailants was answered. Mrs Jones walked into the church.

‘Mrs Jones?’ Alex said, dropping his hands a little.

‘I repeat, keep your hands in plain sight above your head!’ the man with the loudhailer yelled.

‘Alex,’ Mrs Jones replied.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Alex demanded.

‘I could ask you exactly the same question.’

‘Now,’ the lady who had complimented their singing said, ‘what is the meaning of this?’ She was tiny, but spoke in a tone that brooked no argument. Alex stared at her in astonishment – but then again, maybe having lived a long time gave you more courage than the average person. She certainly didn’t seem at all worried by the guns.

‘Now look here,’ the vicar said, ‘you can’t just come marching into a house of God armed with dangerous weapons and –’

‘Sir, you could potentially be charged with having harboured a known criminal,’ Mrs Jones snapped. ‘Please allow these men to do their job.’

‘Known criminals?’ the first lady said. She patted Yassen’s elbow. ‘They are very good singers.’

‘That man is an international assassin.’

At Mrs Jones’ words there was a gasp and a ten-foot circle opened up around Yassen. Someone pulled out a mobile phone and started videoing. Yassen looked unperturbed. His expression remained somewhere between ‘amused’ and ‘put out.’

Clara spoke angrily.

‘Excuse me, Mrs Jones, but I take exception to this treatment. Last time you appeared in my life with a unit of soldiers you had my friend manhandled into a car and driven away without even saying goodbye. Now, my friends and I haven’t hurt anyone, we have caused no disruption, and I object to having guns pointed at me.’

‘Alright, men, the girl makes a fair point,’ the lead soldier said. He spoke to Clara. ‘Now, miss, if you and your friends come quietly and don’t make any trouble, my boys won’t have to point their guns at you, alright?’ He gestured to four of his men. ‘You four lead these kids out to the vans, and play nice as long as they do. I’m sure they’ve had a tough time. Now cuffs for the others, please.’

‘What, are we being marched out like criminals?’ Wolf growled.

‘I am afraid you and your unit are facing trial for treason by a military court, yes,’ Mrs Jones told him. ‘Please don’t make life difficult for your fellow service-men by resisting.’

‘Yeah, Wolf-man, none of us want to shoot you,’ one of the soldiers said, and Alex realised that he must know Wolf. K Unit had trained with these men, or ones very like them. God, what a mess he had got them into. His stomach churned uncomfortably.

The soldiers ordered to look after him and his friends had been staring at him suspiciously, but when they saw his face their expressions softened. One of them stepped forward and touched him on the shoulder.

‘Take it easy, kid,’ he said.

Behind him Roberta gave a kind of shaky gasp, and the SAS man turned to her.

‘Don’t _touch_ me!’ she snarled.

‘Alright, miss, let’s just keep calm, please. Walk out of the door.’

Heads down and avoiding one another’s eyes, the Non-Conformists allowed themselves to be led out of the church. Alex heard footsteps as K Unit and Yassen followed – no doubt with machine-guns trained on their backs.

Outside, the four men in charge of them led them to two vans. They were made to stand with their arms out and their legs spread while they were searched for weapons. The soldiers raised their eyebrows over Roberta and Alex’s pistols, and Alex felt any claim to innocence slipping away. They took Roberta’s guitar case and rummaged inside. Roberta kept her face turned away, flinching as the zipper was undone. Another man had found the two hover-boards they had left leaning up against the wall of the church when they went in. His colleagues looked them over, and this time their eyebrows went up in astonishment. Then the two boards were loaded into the front of one of the vans, along with the pistols.

‘Excuse me,’ Clara said. ‘My car is parked in the woods a couple of miles from here, near the Scorpia complex – I presume you know about the complex?’ She held out her car keys. ‘There’s also an SAS Jeep. Would it be possible for someone to collect them?’

One of the men took the keys. ‘Don’t worry, love, we’ll see to it.’

Then the back doors of the vans were opened. Alex was sure that one could have seated all six of them, but the SAS made them get three in each, choosing the groups themselves. Alex would have argued against the lack of control, but he was too tired to care. He, Clara and Roberta were helped into one van, Taylor, Josh and Jane into the other. At the last moment Roberta leaned out again.

‘Please,’ she said, her voice suddenly brittle, ‘can I have my guitar back? I…I want to inspect the damage.’

The soldier at the door glanced at the one who had searched the case. He shrugged.

‘Seemed like just an ordinary guitar to me.’

‘I don’t want to blow up the van or anything,’ Roberta promised tiredly. The SAS man smiled a little as he handed the guitar over.

Then the doors were slammed and locked. It wasn’t nearly as bad as some of the vehicles Alex had been transported in – there were proper seats with buckles and although the windows were blacked out, there was a yellow ceiling light – but he still felt claustrophobic.

Roberta knelt on the floor and carefully unzipped the guitar case. Clara stood behind her, gripping her shoulder tightly. When she lifted the lid away both of them gasped.

The van began to move. Alex leaned his head back against the wall, letting it loll in time with the turns of the road, remembering the last time he had been a prisoner of his own government. That time he had got out of it; there had been things MI6 had needed of him, he had been able to make up for it and go free. That time he had been tangling with Scorpia as well. Would he be as lucky this time round?

The fret board of the guitar was snapped into two separate pieces. There was a stiletto-shaped hole through the body, and broken wires protruded from both places. Fragments of plastic littered the bottom of the case. It was clear that the guitar would never play again.

What about his friends? They hadn’t meant any harm when they had hidden Yassen from Scorpia and the police, but would it appear that way in the eyes of the law? What about K Unit? Their careers could be over.

‘Oh no,’ Clara murmured.

What about Yassen?

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Roberta was saying over and over, shaking her head. Clara stood silently behind her, stroking her hair. ‘It doesn’t matter at all.’

Alex wondered what she was talking about – the guitar, or their impending fate?


	34. Gadgets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My siblings and I have posted a podcast discussing Alex Rider! It's called It's Not That Deep and you can find it on Soundcloud!

One advantage of having been put three to a van was that there was enough room to stretch out on the seats and sleep. When Roberta looked reasonably calm again, Clara lay down on one row and was out in minutes. Roberta, who was so tall her feet would have dangled off the end anyway, graciously gave Alex the other row and curled up in the corner. Alex slumped down gratefully, but even though he was exhausted he didn’t manage to sleep more than fitfully. He knew he needed rest, but he couldn’t get rid of the feeling that he had to stay awake, that he was responsible. And he couldn’t stop worrying.

At about six o’clock – though none of them knew the time – Clara groaned and opened her eyes.

‘Time is it?’ she asked of the world in general.

‘Night-time,’ Alex answered. She turned and saw him leaning against the wall opposite her. ‘I’m guessing, anyway,’ he added.

‘You look terrible,’ she said.

‘Ugh. Thanks. I know.’

‘Did we stop or anything?’ Clara asked, propping herself up on her elbows. She felt dizzy and disoriented, her body clock completely thrown out.

‘Once. They let me and Rob out to pee. You didn’t want to wake up though.’

‘Sorry about that. So, where are we now?’

‘Look at the window, Clara. The visibility is not that good. In fact, the window is opaque. _I have no idea_.’

‘Oh.’ Clara looked at him appealingly. ‘I thought you were magic like that.’

Alex relented. ‘We slowed down a while back, so I’m guessing we’re in London now.’

‘London?’

‘Yes. I don’t know for certain, but I’m fairly sure they’re taking us to MI6 headquarters. We probably don’t have much further to go…’

As he spoke, the van turned sharp left and then began to go down. They felt their stomachs dip and the whole room slanted as they drove down some sort of ramp.

‘Ah-hah,’ Alex said darkly.

‘This mean anything to you?’

‘Yeah; when they’re driving you here when you’re in a ton of trouble, they always take you down a ramp into an underground car park first.’

‘Great. And then what happens?’

‘Well, sometimes they take you to a cell for the night…then they give you breakfast…then depending on how much leverage you’ve given them, they might blackmail you into doing a mission for them…’

‘Alex, are we in trouble?’

‘You tell me.’

‘Oh God, we’re in so much trouble, aren’t we?’

‘Well, I have a fair few brownie points…and you’re a first-time offender…so yeah, we are in trouble.’

‘Fuck.’

‘They won’t make you go on a mission, though, you’re too clumsy,’ Alex continued brightly.

‘Thanks, frog,’ Clara said, glaring at him darkly.

The van stopped.

‘Is Rob awake?’ Clara half-whispered. Roberta hadn’t moved while they’d been talking; she was sitting with her knees drawn up and her head bowed, so that her long hair hid her face.

‘Roberta?’ Alex said, nudging her with his toe. She raised her head, blinking blearily, but Alex was convinced by the speed of her reaction that she hadn’t been asleep.

‘You okay?’ Clara asked.

‘Sure, why wouldn’t I be?’ Roberta growled. She groaned and stumbled to her feet, just as the door swung open behind them.

Alex blinked as electric light flooded into the van.

‘You all okay?’ one of the soldiers asked, peering in. ‘Come out and line up.’

As Alex complied, he looked sideways and saw that Taylor, Josh and Jane were already lined up behind the other van a few spaces along from them. Jane caught his eye and flashed him a brief smile.

Another soldier walked up to them. He was holding Jane’s purse and a clear plastic bag containing a handful of oil pastels that must have come out of Josh’s pocket.

‘Anything they might have picked up in the Scorpia complex or anywhere else could be important,’ he said. ‘We’ll send it all to the lab. Smithers will want to see those hoverboards…’

He leaned into the van and came out with Roberta’s guitar case. ‘I’m going to have to take this, miss.’

Roberta stared straight ahead. ‘Take it.’

The soldier shrugged and slung the guitar across his shoulder.

They were led up into the Royal and General bank. Alex felt relief at being reunited with the rest of the band. But there was no sign of K Unit and Yassen.

‘Where are the others?’ he asked the soldier leading them.

‘They’re fine,’ the man answered – which wasn’t really an answer at all. Alex shrugged, fighting down his unease.

They were led up to the first floor and shown into a room. It was grey-carpeted and dull, but Alex noted with satisfaction that at least it didn’t look like a cell. There was a sofa and two armchairs, and, off to the side, a table set for dinner. At the smell of food his stomach contracted fiercely. He hadn’t eaten since the mince pies early that morning, and suddenly he felt faint with hunger – so faint that at first he didn’t notice the man sitting in one of the armchairs.

‘Good evening, Alex,’ he said, folding a copy of the Evening Standard and sitting forward in his chair. ‘Why don’t you and your friends take a seat?’

‘Hello, Mr Crawley,’ Alex said. He perched gingerly on the sofa and the others followed suit. Josh bravely took the other armchair, looking as unfazed as ever.

‘You can leave,’ Crawley said impatiently to the soldiers. They went out, closing the door behind them.

‘I am John Crawley of the Royal and General Bank – or MI6, as you now know it,’ Crawley said by way of an introduction, ‘and what a fine mess you young people have got yourselves into!’

‘Sorry,’ Clara said. ‘It just sort of…happened.’

‘Hmph,’ Crawley sniffed. ‘Well, Mr Blunt wants to see you in an hour, and in the meantime you’re all to clean yourselves up and have dinner.’ He nodded towards the table. ‘Now, it seems as though no harm has been done, so I don’t want any of you to panic, but you’ve caused a considerable headache for all concerned. Just count yourselves lucky that you got out of there in one piece. Now make sure you all have something to eat.’ He nodded once and left. Alex heard the lock click behind him.

‘So, looks like we’re not going anywhere,’ he said.

‘Dinner!’ Clara exclaimed, hurrying over to the table. She lifted the lid off a large silver saucepan and a plume of fragrant steam wafted up. ‘Taylor and Josh get served last because they’ll eat the whole lot given half the chance.’ MI6 had provided them with some sort of stew and dumplings, and Clara began to ladle it onto her plate.

The meal was basic, but it seemed to Alex as though it was the best thing he had ever eaten. They emptied the stew pot and the breadbasket beside it, then devoured the apples and the box of Tesco’s chocolate brownie pieces that had been provided.

‘That’s better,’ Clara sighed at last, slumping back in her chair. ‘So, what now?’

As if on cue there was a knock at the door, which immediately opened to reveal Crawley once again.

‘Come with me now,’ he instructed.

‘What happens to K Unit?’ Jane asked as they followed him into the corridor.

‘They have already seen Mr Blunt,’ Crawley said, walking briskly. ‘They’re the army’s responsibility, really; I expect their regiment will have a thing or two to say to them. They are in considerable trouble, I’m afraid. Rather more than you.’

‘And what about Yassen?’

Crawley didn’t answer.

‘Is he going to stand trial?’ Jane pressed in her best school debating voice.

‘Mr Blunt will explain everything,’ Crawley said shortly. He stopped; Alex recognised the door he had stood in front of so many times before. 1605. The Gunpowder Plot. Crawley raised his hand, but before he could knock the door opened of its own accord. An armed soldier stepped out, followed by K Unit.

‘Wolf!’ Alex exclaimed.

‘Hi, Cub.’ Wolf jerked his head. He looked sour, but not overly worried. Fox was even calmer. Ignoring their escort, he stepped right up to Alex and spoke to him quietly.

‘Don’t worry about us, Cub; we did a lot of useful stuff out there and they’re not going to imprison us after that. And good job on helping trash that compound.’ He clapped Alex on the shoulder and re-joined the others.

‘Come in, Alex,’ a woman’s voice called from inside the office. Mrs Jones. Alex sighed and stepped through the door.

The scene was just as he always remembered it. Mr Blunt was sitting in his usual seat, suit on, face blank, Mrs Jones at his elbow. The only difference was that instead of one chair opposite the desk, there were seven. Would Crawley be joining them? But even as Alex asked himself the question, Crawley backed out and closed the door. He shrugged, and they sat down opposite the desk. He waited, but Mr Blunt didn’t speak.

At last Alex asked, ‘Well?’

Blunt held up a hand. There was another knock at the door.

‘Come in,’ he called.

The door opened and an armed guard led Yassen Gregorovich into the room.

Alex sat up, startled. He ran his eyes over the assassin, trying to work out what to think. On the plus side, Yassen looked reasonably relaxed, and he was being allowed into the meeting. On the minus side, his hands were cuffed in front of him.

‘Thank you,’ Mrs Jones said to the guard. ‘Wait outside, please.’ The guard left, and Yassen sat down in the remaining chair.

‘We want to hear your collective account of events,’ Mrs Jones explained. ‘As I understand, it began when you, for reasons best known to yourselves, decided to let Mr Gregorovich stay in an MI6 safe house while he attempted to find information on his former employers. Is that correct?’

‘Er…yes,’ Clara answered.

‘Why?’

‘Well, he said that Scorpia had operated on his brain,’ Clara said almost apologetically, glancing at Yassen. ‘And Snake seemed to believe him, so…’

‘But you didn’t come to us?’

‘We didn’t think you would believe it.’

‘And I wouldn’t have waited to find out whether you did,’ Yassen put in.

‘Indeed.’ Mrs Jones turned to Alex. ‘What possessed you? Do you have any idea how much danger you put yourself in?’

‘Yassen and I have an understanding,’ Alex said. He knew it was a bad idea to wind up Blunt and Mrs Jones, but he couldn’t resist.

Mrs Jones’ eyes were boring into him, so he sighed and continued. ‘K Unit thought it was important to find out whether there was any truth behind what Yassen said,’ he explained, ‘but we thought that if we got MI6 involved…well, like Yassen said, he would have run a mile and we would have had no way of finding out what Scorpia were up to…so, well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.’

‘Yes, well.’ Mr Blunt cleared his throat. ‘A few days later, K Unit tell me, your friend Roberta was kidnapped. Is that correct?’

‘Yes,’ Alex nodded.

‘And this was nothing to do with Gregorovich?’

‘No,’ Yassen said smoothly.

‘Not that I know of,’ Roberta said, shrugging.

‘So, without alerting MI6 – ’

‘Yassen would have run a mile,’ Alex reminded them.

‘Without alerting MI6, you decided to head up to Scotland to find her…’

‘Hey,’ Josh interrupted, ‘excuse me. I was wondering, how did you guys find us in the first place? I mean, we hadn’t told anyone where we were going. What gives?’

‘We looked at your internet history,’ Mrs Jones answered. ‘Clara had booked a bed and breakfast in the village where we eventually found you.’

‘Oh.’ Clara looked down at her hands, abashed. ‘Right.’

‘Tell me what happened when you arrived at the compound,’ Mrs Jones continued.

‘We left Clara and that lot with the cars,’ Alex said, ‘and K Unit, Yassen and I went into the compound. We split up and went looking for Roberta, but we got captured. Guards from the compound found the others at the cars too…’ Here Alex paused, and exchanged a tiny glance with Clara. He had missed out one crucial detail, but one look at her expression told him she wasn’t going to bring it up if he didn’t. Something in the set of Yassen’s shoulders told Alex that he too was appreciating the omission.

‘They apprehended you all quite easily, then?’ Mrs Jones asked.

‘They knew we would be there.’

‘How?’

‘They let me find out that information about Scorpia’s experimental brain surgery was being held at that facility, so that I would come looking,’ Yassen explained. He leaned forward in his chair, and when he spoke again he sounded more serious than Alex had ever heard him.

‘Mr Blunt, this is important.’ Alex didn’t quite believe in his earnest tone. ‘Scorpia have succeeded in performing mental engineering that can completely alter a person’s psyche, and they can make physical modifications to match. With this technology they will no longer need to source suitable agents. They will be able to pull new assassins in off the streets. You remember Ash’s abilities at the concert…’

‘We are aware of your organisation’s advances in medical science, Mr Gregorovich,’ Blunt said crisply. He turned to stare reprovingly at Alex. ‘As it happens, your actions have not been without benefit. I’m sure you all want to know what happened after you fled Scorpia’s compound. Well, the fire you started in the operating theatre took hold, and destroyed a great deal of unique equipment. Somehow the cables from the main power generator were also destroyed, and the compound’s entire computer system crashed.

‘Oh.’ Josh looked faintly surprised. ‘That was me.’

‘We have only been able to recover a little information from the computers,’ Blunt continued, ‘but we found several interesting experiments in the offices on the first floor – ’ Yassen smiled to himself – ‘and we apprehended most of the staff. The guards gave us some trouble, but the medical personnel were quite willing to explain their latest innovations. They confirmed that Scorpia are able to physically and mentally alter patients, and they also claimed that the files lost from the compound’s computers were not held anywhere else. Their latest developments were so recent that they simply hadn’t passed them on to the general organisation.’

‘It almost beggars belief,’ Mrs Jones said, ‘and of course we’re already trying to find out whether other branches of Scorpia are using the technology, but if our hostages are to be believed, you lot have put a considerable dent in Scorpia’s research.’

‘A shame that even a multi-billion dollar organisation cannot be relied upon to back up its files,’ Blunt sniffed.

‘Either way,’ Mrs Jones said, ‘we have captured some valuable medical professionals, and got rid of a very unwelcome facility on British soil. You also depleted their stock of hoverboards, by the way. The only people we were unable to apprehend were Ash and Mrs Rothman herself.’

Alex slumped back in his chair. ‘Well, that’s just bloody typical.’ Yassen smiled more widely and Alan Blunt and Mrs Jones looked daggers at Alex.

‘Rothman must have had some plan of escape which allowed her to vanish more quickly than her less senior colleagues,’ Mrs Jones said frostily, ‘and I am afraid that with his modifications Ash will be almost untraceable. All the same, we’ll look for them. We’ll never stop looking.’

‘That’s very reassuring, Mrs Jones.’

Mrs Jones sighed. ‘Yes, Alex, I know we have fallen short in the past,’ she said. ‘Anyway, even though what you and your friends did was horribly dangerous, it seems to have actually paid off, so you will be let off with a severe reprimand this time.’

‘Thanks!’ Taylor said, beaming. He punched Alex on the shoulder. ‘We won’t do it again, right bruv?’

‘Believe me, I never want to.’

The other Non-Conformists were grinning at one another with relief, but Roberta leaned forward and said aggressively,

‘Hey.’

Everyone looked at her.

‘What happens to Yassen?’ she demanded.

There was silence. Blunt stared blankly at the opposite wall. Mrs Jones looked down with an expression of cultured regret.

It was Yassen himself who answered. ‘A secret trial and imprisonment, I expect.’

‘But –’ Roberta said, but Blunt suddenly spoke again.

‘Yes. There are severe charges against Mr Gregorovich. Multiple counts of murder, theft, identity fraud, blackmail – ’

‘But the brain surgery!’ Clara protested.

‘A procedure which he admits he volunteered for himself,’ Mrs Jones reminded her.

‘When he was our age! He’s at least in part a victim –’

‘He was Ian Rider’s murderer and very nearly yours, Miss Foster,’ Blunt snapped. ‘Please do not be hysterical.’

Clara bridled. Mrs Jones raised a placating hand. ‘You say that this surgery was very subtle compared to what was being done at the compound, Mr Gregorovich,’ she said, ‘so you see, Miss Foster, I’m afraid we have to regard him as a free agent.’

‘Assuming he is telling the truth at all,’ Blunt muttered.

‘What?’ Roberta said loudly.

‘As I have said, all records at the compound were destroyed,’ he said, ‘and the surgeons we arrested could give us no information on techniques used before their time.’

‘What, none?’ Clara asked sceptically.

‘None,’ Blunt said coldly. ‘And if the alterations were as unobtrusive as Mr Gregorovich insists, I doubt there will be much evidence that would show up in a brain scan –’

‘Are you even going to _check_?’

‘Please.’ Mrs Jones stretched out her hands placating. ‘This is not the time or the place to discuss this.’

‘So it’s going to be discussed, then? It’s not final?’ Josh spoke up again. His voice was heavy with disbelief.

Mrs Jones’ tone was final. ‘I know you mean well, but none of you know anything about what we are dealing with in an organisation like Scorpia – well, Alex, you understand…’

Alex was staring at the floor, his face hard. He refused to look at Mrs Jones as she waited.

Mrs Jones sighed and continued. ‘There will be no more discussion.’ She called towards the door. ‘Come in!’

The guard stepped back into the room, and Yassen got to his feet. Roberta half-rose too, but Alex grabbed her shoulder and forced her back down into her chair. Yassen looked at her for a moment, and then at Alex. Alex stared back. He didn’t know what he felt.

‘Take him to a holding cell,’ Blunt offered.

‘Yes sir,’ the guard said. He looked more nervous than Yassen. He took the Russian by the shoulder and led him out of the room. The door closed behind him.

‘You may go,’ Blunt said, nodding once. He slid an envelope across the desk. ‘These are train tickets back to your home town. You, Alex, may return to your house in Chelsea if you wish. You are all free to go.’

Alex could see that the others were still reeling. He stood up, and said thickly,

‘Come on, guys, let’s go.’

As they had done after the shooting at their first concert, they followed him. They were too shocked to do anything else. They were out in the corridor before Clara found her voice.

‘Alex, I’m sorry, we shouldn’t have…I mean, he…your uncle.’

‘No, it’s fine…’ Alex brushed her away, shaking his head. ‘He’s a complete psychopath, but they can’t just…’

‘They’re just ignoring the other side of the question because it’s simpler!’ Jane exclaimed.

‘It’s fine; we’ll do something,’ Clara said. ‘We can go to the papers –’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Clara!’ Alex exploded. ‘You’re so bloody naïve!’

‘Alex! I was hoping to see you, but I’m sorry to find you so out of sorts, old chap.’

Alex spun round. A very fat man had stepped out of the elevator and was walking towards them.

‘Oh.’ He controlled himself with a huge effort. ‘Mr Smithers. Good evening.’

‘You’re not in any hurry, I hope? I rather wanted to have a chat with you and your friends. First, tell me what’s bothering you.’

‘It’s Yassen Gregorovich,’ Alex said bluntly. ‘He…well, he seems to be in a lot of trouble.’

‘Oh?’

‘They’ve locked him up.’

‘Ah.’ Smithers looked disappointed. ‘I had a chat with Mr Gregorovich about Scorpia’s new technology, and he struck me as quite an engaging young man – unusual; between you and me, most of these spies and assassins are dreadfully boring. And Mr Blunt is determined to see him thoroughly punished, is he? It seems a shame, but I’m not surprised. He’s not happy with me either, you know; seems to think that my department should have come up with this hoverboard idea long ago. I told him that my specialities are chemistry and computer science, not aerospace engineering, but there you go!’

‘Yes.’ Alex was feeling increasingly impatient. Yassen was being imprisoned, and he had no way of doing anything about it even if he had wanted to. He was in no mood to make small talk with Smithers.

Smithers seemed oblivious to his frustration, however.

‘Why don’t you all pop into my office?’ he said, beginning to walk down the corridor. ‘When I was told that Alex was going to work with a group of teenage musicians…well, it’s just a shame they rushed you out there so fast, dear boy, or I would have been able to make a few modifications to that bass of yours. And as for the other instruments! The saxophone for example. All those keys! I could fit a dozen gadgets into a saxophone – though I’m not sure if it would be playable afterwards. There’s always a hitch.’ He sighed, and pulled open the door to his office.

‘Your gadgets are so the coolest thing in all Alex’s stories,’ Taylor said. ‘My favourite’s the zit cream.’

‘Thank you,’ Smithers beamed. ‘Taylor, isn’t it? Now…’ He sat down in his chair and gestured to a rack at the side of the room. Alex saw that it contained six hoverboards.

‘Jolly good show liberating these from Scorpia,’ he said. ‘I’ve already had one of my technicians strip them down and record the components, so I see no reason why you shouldn’t have the originals back.’

Personally Alex could think of several reasons, from MI6’s point of view, why they shouldn’t have them back, but he thought it better not to argue.

‘Oh, thanks,’ said Clara, who also looked a little thrown.

‘You’re most welcome,’ Smithers answered. ‘If I’d had a little more time I would have added some upgrades, but there it is. Now, Roberta, I understand you suffered some property damage with Scorpia – shocking behaviour, I must say. As I said, I’ve been working on guitars since Alex was given this assignment, so it didn’t take me long to knock this up for you.’

He reached under his desk and produced a magnificent guitar.

Roberta flew to the desk. ‘That – that’s mine!’ she gasped, staring at the guitar as it lay gleaming on the wooden desk. ‘Oh my God, you…you fixed it!’

‘A spot of soldering here and there,’ Smithers shrugged. ‘And I took the liberty of reinforcing the casing a little, too. The next person who tries to smash it won’t find it so easy…in fact, I would be careful who you hit on the head with it from now on!’ He chortled at the thought. ‘I’ve re-strung it, too. The strings come with my own twenty-year guarantee, so they won’t need changing in a while – and they’re rather special.’ He reached out and strummed them gently with one pudgy thumb. ‘They’re perfectly normal on the outside, but threaded through them you’ll find razor wire that’ll cut through just about anything. The bottom E string also acts as a radio aerial. Just push the tuning peg down into the headstock of the guitar and you’ll be able to tune in to any frequency you like. There are small speakers concealed behind the strings. And if you strum the E string you’ll be able to send out a signal which will be intercepted by our satellite here at MI6. Useful if you’re ever in a pinch. I’m afraid I haven’t been able to incorporate a microphone, so you’ll have to learn Morse code before it’s much use to you, but it’s a start, eh?’

‘ _Wow_ ,’ Roberta muttered.

‘Now, the other tuning pegs are quite fun too,’ Smithers continued calmly. He ran a finger across the upper row of pegs. ‘These top three are small explosive devices – unscrew them all the way, count to five and throw. Do be careful! This bottom left one is a skeleton key that will pick just about any lock. And this last one – ’ He tapped the final peg. ‘Push it into the headstock just like I showed you with the first one, and it will send out a signal that will jam all the security cameras within a hundred metres. Rather like the gadget I gave you when you broke into that agricultural complex, Alex.’ He looked past Roberta at Alex, raising one eyebrow.

‘Does it work on…like, _all_ cameras?’ Alex asked carefully.

‘All,’ Smithers said, smiling beatifically. ‘Why, we have an absolutely state-of-the-art security system here in the Royal and General, but I shudder to think what would happen if an infiltrator were to come equipped with one of these. Just about cripple our surveillance, I should think.’

‘Right.’ Alex paused for a moment, then stood. ‘Well…thank you, Mr Smithers. We’d better hurry if we don’t want to miss our…train.’

‘It was lovely meeting you,’ Clara added, leaning forward to shake hands with Smithers.

‘The same to all of you, and splendid to see you again, Alex. Do take care of the guitar. And come back soon; I expect I’ll have a whole host of instrumental gadgets soon, and you’re not to spoil my fun!’

‘Oh, we won’t,’ Clara promised.

‘Thank you so much for fixing this,’ Roberta said fervently. She picked up the guitar, feeling its weight, her expression turning thoughtful. ‘I’m…sure it will come in handy.’

‘I hope so, my dear,’ Smithers said, and they smiled at one another – a smile of perfect understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smithers is the best character ever.


	35. Jailbreak

‘Right, guys,’ Alex said as soon as they were out in the corridor, ‘I’m sorry to be all patronising after everything we’ve done together, but this time I _really_ think that this time just I – _fine_ , just me and Rob should go.’ He had seen Roberta furiously open her mouth, and felt that an argument at this point would be even more dangerous than just letting her come with him.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Clara said briskly. She seemed to have realised the risks of arguing too. ‘Probably safest. We’ll wait for you out front somewhere.’

‘Wait, what?’ Taylor said.

Alex faltered a little. ‘We are all thinking the same thing, right?’

Jane tapped Taylor on the elbow and whispered, ‘they’re going to break Yassen out of his cell using Rob’s new guitar.’

‘Oooo-oh,’ Taylor said. ‘Uh…sounds a little risky.’

‘Shut up; I don’t want to think about it,’ Alex muttered. ‘Taylor, Josh, could you take Rob’s and my hoverboards and hang onto them? We’ll meet you…where close to here’s got good cover? Hyde Park. C’mon, Rob, let’s go. S’laters, guys.’

‘He is a legend,’ Clara said, shaking her head as she watched them go.

‘He’s crazy,’ Jane said. ‘We’re all crazy. Come on, let’s hurry; we’ve got to get out of here.’

*     *     *

‘Don’t run,’ Alex said, taking Roberta by the elbow.

‘Okay,’ Roberta said nervously. He didn’t think he had ever seen her look so anxious, but it wasn’t really surprising. Loudly proclaiming transgression in the school corridors was a long way away from doing it for real in the corridors of MI6.

‘Where are we going?’ she hissed at him.

‘Down. They held me in one of the cells here the first time I got mixed up with Scorpia; I think I know roughly where that is.’ _Hell, this is going to be harder than I thought,_ he nearly said, but stopped himself in time. There was no sense in panicking her.

They walked quietly to the stairs and jogged down, their feet tapping lightly on the carpet. Alex’s legs quickly started to ache, but he somehow felt that, given their clandestine destination, they shouldn’t be taking the lift.

‘Rider, how many floors up are we?’

‘Seventeen.’

‘Oh.’

After a few more flights, Roberta said, ‘it’s Christmas day.’

‘Great. Thanks for making me more miserable.’

‘No, I mean, maybe that’s why the building’s so empty. Maybe this is going to be possible.’

‘I suppose. Even spies have to take holidays. Some spies. Not all. Now stop talking; the walls have ears.’

They came out into the underground car park. Everything was eerily quiet, and Alex realised Roberta must be right. The building was operating on a skeleton staff. But he knew that the holding cells would be thoroughly guarded. They were going to need a lot of luck.

The two vans that had brought them in were still parked in their bays. Alex shivered as he passed them, heading for a door marked with an innocuous – but tempting – _authorised personnel only_.

Footsteps came echoing down the stairwell behind them, and Alex quickly grabbed Roberta by the sleeve and pulled her behind one of the two vans.

‘Don’t crouch, lean,’ he whispered. ‘Act casual…’

They weren’t forbidden to be where they were, after all; there was no need to behave suspiciously. Alex waited a few seconds while the footsteps crossed the car park, then peeped out from behind the van. A woman with a box of files was standing in front of the door, and he heard a faint bleeping sound as she punched numbers into a key pad on the wall. She was sideways onto them and he could see the stabbing movements of her finger, but he couldn’t make out the numbers on the pad.

He could feel Roberta leaning forward behind him. Without turning he pressed her with his shoulder, trying to signal to her to keep out of sight. The woman pushed the door open and disappeared inside. Alex gritted his teeth. What next?

‘5396,’ Roberta said.

‘What?’

‘That’s the code.’

‘ _What_?’

‘You know how phones and things have a different tone for each button?’

Alex looked at her blankly. ‘They do?’

Roberta closed her eyes briefly. ‘They do. I wrote a song based around the tune of Clara’s mobile number once. Anyway – ’ She tapped her ear. ‘5396.’

‘Key pad whisperers,’ Alex muttered, heading for the door. ‘Whatever next?’

He hesitated for a second, then let Roberta type in the code.

‘God, I’m not a kid who wants to press the magic button,’ she said, but she looked pleased all the same.

‘Just like a spy film, isn’t it?’ Alex smirked. Sure enough, Roberta had been right. The door opened.

‘Right,’ Alex said, stepping inside. ‘Time for a little security camera disabling, I think.’

‘Oh, uh…’ Roberta unslung her guitar case from her shoulders and opened it at the neck. The guitar gleamed inside, more sleek and splendid than ever. Alex remembered the state it had been in at the end of the evening before, and felt a wave of admiration for Smithers. The man was a genius.

Roberta was fumbling with the tuning pegs. Alex could remember well the first few doubtful times working a gadget, ‘two turns clockwise’ or ‘press start three times’ or whatever it happened to be. Roberta twisted the peg three times, as though unscrewing it, and then pressed it into the neck of the guitar. It clicked and stayed in place. Nothing noticeable happened, but, Alex hoped, all the cameras in this part of the building would have frozen.

‘I hope that Smithers guy knew what he was doing,’ Roberta said, glancing nervously around.

‘Don’t worry; he should know how the security in this building works. He probably designed it.’

They set off down another corridor. The floor was still carpeted, but it was somehow bleaker and more menacing down here; the lighting was harsh, the passage narrow, and Alex could feel the weight of the rest of the building pushing down on them. No windows. Their breath and padding feet seemed horribly loud.

They came to a corner and Alex gestured to Roberta to stay out of sight, then pressed himself flat against the wall and peered gingerly round.

He was looking into an open-plan office area. Opposite him he could see another, much heavier door: bolted grey steel with a second sign, this time in bright red letters. _WARNING: AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY_. In the working area, the woman with the files who had let them into the building was leaning over the shoulder of a dark-haired secretary. Alex’s eyes flickered to the door. It must lead to wherever Yassen was being held – and he was sure there would be armed guards on the other side of it.

‘ _What are we going to do?_ ’ Roberta mouthed at him. Alex didn’t answer. His mind was blank.

An intercom crackled on the desk, and both woman stopped their conversation to look at it.

‘Meryl,’ a man’s voice said, ‘there seems to be a problem with the CCTV on your floor. Could you go and check it from the camera end?’

‘Oh, shit…’ Alex heard Roberta breathe.

He grabbed her and pulled her back down the corridor as the two women left their desk. There was an alcove with a drinking fountain behind them, and the two of them just managed to cram in behind it. Alex crouched absolutely still, praying that neither of the women would glance sideways…to his relief, they passed by, intent on the cameras. But their luck couldn’t last.

Roberta looked at him questioningly, half-rising, her body turned towards the office and the security door.

‘Yes, go!’ he hissed. It was crazy. They were bound to be caught. But this was the only chance they were going to get.

They were half-way across the office, right out in the open, when Alex heard more footsteps. His stomach plunged like a broken lift. This time it was Roberta who acted. She gesticulated towards the desk.

Alex dived forward and curled himself into the space under the desk, but it was obvious that there wasn’t room for two. There was only a narrow gap for the typist’s legs, and Alex wondered if the desk had been purposely designed that way, so as not to provide a hiding place. But what Roberta did next astounded him. Quickly pulling her hair into a twist that hid the worst of the pink streaks, she sat down in the chair itself, pulled it to the desk and hunched over the computer.

Seconds later a man hurried into the room. He looked fraught, and unlike the others they had seen so far, he was armed. But he was focussed on the problem of the cameras, not the identity of the receptionist. In the tail of his eye he saw a dark-haired woman in an anonymous black jacket bending busily over her keyboard. He assumed that the room was secure. He hurried on.

Roberta was shaking. Alex reached up and jabbed her in the leg.

‘What?’

‘Give me your scarf, I’ve got to hide my face.’

She stuffed her pashmina into his hands and he wound it over his mouth, nose and hair. He didn’t think he had felt more ridiculous since the bullfighting costume, but it had to be done. He scrambled up from under the desk and searched until he spotted what he was looking for: a discreet but unmistakable button.

‘Push that,’ he said to Roberta, ‘and then keep your face hidden until I’m done fighting.’

He faced the steel door. _Please, God, don’t let there be more than one guard._

Behind him, Roberta pressed the button.

An alarm shrilled. Not too forceful – it could have been used to signal anything from a terrorist attack to a fainting fit – but it almost made him jump out of his skin, and it did what he had hoped it would do. The door burst open, and before the guard who had opened it could take a step forward Alex was piling into him; a jab to the diaphragm to wind him, and a punch in the head to bring him down. He caught the door before it swung shut and dashed in. There was a second guard, scrabbling for his gun. Alex jabbed a finger into his wrist, caught him by the collar and slammed him chest-first into the wall.

‘Which cell?’ he whispered – he didn’t dare raise his voice for fear of being recognised.

The guard needed no clarification. ‘Third down!’ he gasped. It was clear that he had panicked. He knew that the man he was guarding had worked for Scorpia. It hadn’t crossed his mind that the whole escape was being managed by a couple of teenagers.

Alex knocked him out too, feeling his stomach turn at the cool demolition, and dashed to the third cell. Roberta killed the alarm and came running in.

‘Lock-picking tuning peg, please,’ Alex said, kneeling.

Roberta scrabbled for it. ‘Why aren’t these locks electronic as well?’ she said.

‘In case of fire, I bet.’ Alex snatched the peg. A long, delicate skeleton key unfolded out of its inside. ‘So you can still get the prisoners out if the electricity’s not working.’

‘It would make more sense to have a manual override – ’

‘Well this is making it possible for us to get in, alright? Don’t bloody complain!’ Alex twisted the peg and the door swung open.

He had to hand it to Yassen. The Russian was already on his feet, tense and ready; he must have heard the noises from outside. When he saw who is was, though, he looked staggered. At least, he looked almost as impassive as ever, but Alex could see the shock in his eyes.

‘Quick,’ Alex said, grabbing him by the arm and surprising himself with the motion. ‘There are no back-up measures in place; we’ve got to _run_.’

Yassen came, without comment. He seemed to flow out of the cell, not just a person but a palpable presence, and Alex felt as though a huge weight had rolled off his shoulders at the sight of someone who knew what they were doing. He was also fully aware of how insane it was to be feeling that way.

‘Let’s go,’ Yassen said calmly.

Alex stepped aside to let him pass first, then fell in immediately behind, feeling Roberta do the same beside him. They dashed out of the dark row of cells and into the office. Yassen hesitated, poised on the balls of his feet; Alex guessed he must have been blindfolded when he was brought down. The corridor they had entered by would take them back to the car park, underground in the heart of MI6 headquarters. There had to be another way out. He looked around, and saw a luminous sign: green with a running man.

‘That way.’

Yassen darted forward, quick, controlled and silent. Alex tried to mimic his light footsteps, his heart in his mouth. Surely, any second now, guards, discovery, punishment. He heard a door slam somewhere behind them, and footfalls getting closer, but up ahead Yassen had reached a door marked _fire exit_ – he was throwing it open – the three of them piled through, and Alex slammed it shut again.

The cold night air hit his lungs in an icy, refreshing gasp. He could see Liverpool street just a short sprint away, with ordinary people strolling past – a big enough crowd, even today, to lose oneself in. However, he could also see men spilling out of the front of the Royal and General. He could think of one small piece of comfort: there was only so much fuss MI6 could kick up without blowing their cover.

‘Run; I’ve got a plan!’ he hissed, and Yassen and Roberta immediately obeyed, dashing headlong away from the building and towards the street. Despite everything, Alex felt a little buzz of confidence. He waited for a few seconds and then pelted after them, a featureless silhouette in the orange street lamps, waving his arm at the approaching agents and yelling:

‘I’m on it!’

For the crucial instant, it worked. The men hesitated. Maybe they should fan out and cover him. Maybe they shouldn’t get in the way. Pounding forward, Alex caught up with Yassen and Roberta as they lost themselves among the milling people outside Liverpool Street Station.

For a few minutes they moved as fast as they could without running, twisting and turning to avoid pursuit. Then Alex spoke quietly.

‘We need to head to Hyde Park. The others will be waiting for us with hoverboards.’

Yassen shook his head. ‘I’m impressed,’ he said. ‘You carried that out very smoothly.’

‘No we didn’t; it was a fucking shambles,’ Roberta muttered. ‘Mind you, their security was a shambles too, I guess…’

‘I didn’t expect it to be so easy,’ Alex said. ‘I expect they don’t usually have prisoners in Liverpool Street itself. But still, without the guitar…’

‘We would have been screwed.’ Roberta finished his sentence for him.

‘Guitar?’ Yassen asked.

‘Oh, yeah, Mr Smithers –’ Roberta, finding herself talking directly to Yassen, suddenly became tongue-tied. She turned her face away and shrugged the guitar case a little off her shoulders to show it. ‘He fixed my guitar.’

‘Fixed it?’ Yassen repeated, with undue interest. Roberta hunched in on herself, and Alex suddenly remembered the aggressive, brooding creature she had been when he’d first met her, at school. Of course, she was always aggressive and brooding, but there was a difference between her _caged_ aggression and the kind she displayed when playing music. And, Scorpia or no Scorpia, it had been a long time since he’d seen her on the defensive.

‘He put a few extra things in,’ he explained. ‘Mr Smithers did. CCTV jammers, lock-picks, that sort of thing.’

‘Hand grenades,’ Roberta added.

‘Yeah. We’ve still got them.’ Alex felt his mood brighten a little, though he couldn’t think why. ‘And then he just gave it to us. You know, casually.’

‘…I see,’ Yassen said. ‘A remarkable man.’

‘He said you met him,’ Alex said.

‘Yes,’ Yassen said simply. Alex wondered, not for the first time, what was going on in his mind. Had any part of him been excited to meet the legendary gadget master? What intelligence had he handed on to Smithers about Scorpia’s research and development? And what had he done to make Smithers, almost on a whim, hand Alex and Roberta the technology to set him free? 

They had reached the edge of the park. Alex bounced up on his toes, feeling his muscles, cramped from their long day of driving, suddenly waking up at the sight of a wide green space.

Yassen stared out across the dark lawns and shrubbery, his face serene, and a little thoughtful. On Alex’s other side, Roberta drew a sudden, shaky breath.

‘Oh!’ Something suddenly went clunk in Alex’s head; he wished he had managed not to exclaim about it, but it was too late now. ‘Uh…I’m going to try and find the others and you two, should walk…’

Roberta folded her arms tightly. ‘I don’t think that’s…’

‘Rob –’

‘Shush.’

‘Don’t be –’

She baulked away from his hands.

‘– a coward, if you don’t talk now you’ll regret it later.’

‘Fine.’ Roberta spun sharply on her heel and stood with her back to him, her whole body rigid.

Alex supposed that whatever happened next was Yassen’s problem. He looked at the Russian, who gave him the barest half-smile, then turned and hurried away into the dark.

‘Roberta,’ Yassen said.

Roberta grimaced to herself. She could think of absolutely nothing to say.

‘The problem with modern England,’ Yassen said, ‘is that it has no etiquette. If it were socially unacceptable for a lady and a gentleman in a park not to talk, we would have somewhere to begin. Come. Take my arm. We will walk.’

Roberta sighed, turned around and placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. She looked confused, angry and, to Yassen, very sweet and shy. Who was there at her school, he wondered, who knew how to treat her like a lady? And much less how to treat her the way a woman like herself should be treated? He knew, despite her front, that she was touched.

He led off walking. Roberta followed with long, energetic strides, not strolling but marching. Good. His body wanted exercise. He walked in time with her until she suddenly slowed almost to a standstill, threw back her hair and demanded,

‘What the hell is this?’

‘How can I answer without making you angry?’ he sighed.

‘Answer however you like. I’m already angry.’

‘Oh, Roberta,’ he said, shaking his head.

‘ “Oh Yassen,” ’ she sneered. ‘There’s a fucking moon up there and everything. Oh, what the hell?’

‘I don’t know best to comfort you. I don’t know whether to tell you that it is an adolescent phase which will pass, or a natural biological phenomenon, or that love is never wrong –’

‘Just tell me whatever will shut me up, huh? I don’t suppose _you_ have an opinion? Hey, Yassen, do you even believe in love?’

‘I didn’t,’ Yassen said, ‘until I met you.’

Roberta made an incredulous choking sound. ‘Oh – ! God, _please_!’

Yassen raised a hand, apologetic. ‘That came out wrong.’ He grinned at his own use of the phrase. ‘For one thing, it isn’t true. I already loved Alex, and Alex’s father. But women…romantic love…’

‘Love is just lust, right?’

Yassen inclined his head. ‘But the way I feel about you does not quite fit with that hypothesis, so I have been considering others, and one of these is that love exists.’

‘Tell me another.’

‘That I’m going crazy.’

‘Fair enough. That was going to be my explanation for myself.’

‘Roberta,’ Yassen said softly, and reached out a hand. ‘It isn’t wrong to be in love with me.’

She wrenched herself away. ‘I’m not in love with you!’

‘That is why I didn’t want to say it. I knew it would only make you shout.’ He reached out again, and this time she let him take her by the shoulders, not quite like a teacher, not quite like a lover. ‘Roberta, however you feel – ’ He brushed a wisp of hair away from her face, and suddenly everything shifted; the night was alive, the stars dazzling – ‘you are a good person.’

‘What do you mean “good”?’ Roberta muttered, staring at her shoes.

‘I mean that you possess good qualities. That it is a good thing that you exist. That I am an inconsistent, short-sighted and dramatic human being and think you are a good thing.’

‘Do you love me?’ Roberta asked boldly.

‘Yes.’

Well.

‘So you’ve worked out what love is, then, at any rate?’ she said after a moment.

‘Yes. It is whatever this is.’

‘It looks like we’re back to “what the hell is this?” ’ Roberta half-laughed, looked down and saw that somehow they had ended up holding both pairs of hands. Their heads were bowed forward, very close together.

‘I know that I respect you, as I have respected a few other people before. I know that I desire you, but not enough to allow me to fall back on the original theory of love. And I know that I am a little bit afraid of you.

‘Wow,’ she muttered, slipping for a moment at last. ‘I…I just…’ She looked up at Yassen and any words she might have had died in her throat, but it didn’t matter; he could read them all in her eyes. The longing to escape from everything that was shackling her brilliant wildness and her originality, and be truly understood – even by a murderer. And maybe to have to unravel him in return, rather than being able to see his every social motive pinned out like beetles on a cork board.

He touched her cheek and looked into her eyes, relishing the connection; a true point of contact. She looked away – rested her head on his shoulder and began to mumble.

‘Desire me, huh? Dude, I thought you were the freakin’ North Pole…’

Yassen chuckled, holding her. She lifted her head again and looked into his eyes. ‘What’re you going to do now?’

The big question. For a moment Yassen allowed himself to forget it. He kept one finger holding onto reality – his reality – and let himself drift in the smoke of her voice. His shoulder-blades and whole body tingled, then relaxed. What did it matter if enemies came, if the park was full of snipers? Spies and assassins spent their whole lives preserving themselves, so carefully, from every risk. And for what?

This.

Their lips touched.

‘Ah, Roberta,’ Yassen said again, and knew that this time the words had come without his volition, and that he had meant them.

‘Kiss me,’ she said, and Yassen bent his head and kissed her. The snow in London had all melted, if there had been any to begin with; there was nothing but wetness and cold, and yet the moment their mouths met she was back in the snowfield. She actually felt and saw it descend around her: a rush of wind and snowflakes, the landscape turning white, cold without hurting. Hot tears sprang up in her eyes, because she knew that she was holding a waking dream in her arms, and that like a snowflake he would melt away in a moment, driven away by the police trucks and sirens that would come howling out of her structured life. She ran her hands down his arms, feeling for his skin, and the shape of his lean, wiry muscles beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

‘Yassen, aren’t you cold?’

‘Haven’t we been here before?’

‘You felt it too? All snowy?’

‘Something like that. Choral music.’

‘Whatever floats your boat. We’ll go walking in the snow again,’ she promised extravagantly, but meaning it all the same.

‘In Russia,’ he agreed.

‘Really?’

‘Yes. And then we’ll break into the Winter Palace together, after the tourists have left.’

‘I’ll bring my super-guitar to help us do it.’ Roberta sniffed deeply and flicked a finger under each eye. ‘Come on, we’d better find the others. You have to get out of the city.’

It didn’t take them long to spot the rest of the Non-Conformists, standing huddled together on the rise of the ground, sheltered by trees. Roberta could see the outline of a hoverboard, standing up on end under Alex’s arm, and suddenly her heart began to beat faster. She had a sense that time was slipping away from her, faster than she realised, like water under ice; and yet she couldn’t stop walking forward.

‘Guys,’ Alex said as they climbed up towards him. He tipped the board down at Yassen’s feet. ‘There. All charged up and ready.’

‘I thank all of you very much,’ Yassen said, looking round the six faces. ‘For your help, the escape – the music especially.’

‘You’re violin’s still at our place,’ Jane remembered.

‘I will write to you when it is safe. You can send it.’ That was a definite link. They were all pleased.

‘Well, goodbye, bruv,’ Taylor said, stepping forward. He and Yassen shook hands.

‘See ya,’ Josh said, shaking in turn. Clara wished him good luck; Jane kissed him briskly on the cheek. He came round to Roberta.

‘I…’ She bit her lip, looking everywhere but at him.

‘Come with me,’ he offered. ‘If you wish.’

She stared at him. He could feel the others’ eyes boring into him. Then Roberta whispered,

‘Who’d make Alex practise his scales?’

‘Stay,’ Yassen said, pushing her hair behind her ear, and turned to him.

‘No-one nicks my bloody friends,’ he said, marching forward. He hugged Yassen painfully. ‘There; good luck alright. And this doesn’t mean I’m not going to kill you and it doesn’t mean I damned well like you; now go!’

Yassen kick-started the board, and the fans began to spin, raising it off the ground. He stepped on. The board bobbed a little, adjusting to his weight. The fans calmed to a steady hum.

‘Godspeed and all that,’ Clara said. Yassen nodded, raising his hand in the same gesture Alex had once seen him make from behind the glass of a helicopter, the very first time they’d met. The Non-Conformists leaned back to watch him as he inched the board higher and higher, the whine of the fans steadily rising as they lifted his weight. For a moment he hung above them, testing his balance. Then he crouched, flinging his arms back as counterweights, and the board shot away, rapidly picking up speed, vanishing into the darkness of the park. In moments the fans had faded, and they were left standing, gazing into the empty night.

‘Lucky cow,’ Clara muttered.

‘Shuddup,’ Roberta said. ‘It doesn’t…what, what would you have said?’

‘Same as you, of course. I couldn’t leave my lovely friends. Seeing as we all need you desperately.’

‘You can say that again.’ But Roberta continued to stare out across the park, her chin raised and shoulders tense.

‘He knows you decided to stick it out here for our sake,’ Clara said. ‘We all know you didn’t say know because deep down you’ve got a mundane mind, or anything like that.

She had cut straight to the heart of the issue, like always. Roberta looked at her hard for a moment, then grinned suddenly.

‘Thanks, babes. I’ve really missed all you guys…I mean, I know I’ve only been away for like two days, but I’ve really, really missed you. It’s just –’ She stopped abruptly.

‘I know.’ Clara threw a regretful glance after the hoverboard. ‘Why are all the good ones married, evil or fictitious, huh? Except for this lot.’ She jerked her head at Taylor, Alex and Josh.

‘We’ve done a pretty good job on this lot,’ Jane agreed.

‘Yeah. Now let’s get to the train station. It’s freezing here; I wanna go home.’

They arrived at the station in plenty of time for the ten o’clock train that would take them for Essex. Alex left them, with bone-crushing hugs and a few tears, on the platform. He promised that he would be in touch, would see them as soon as he could, but that night he needed to be with Jack. It was only a short journey back to the house in Chelsea, though made longer by the reduced Christmas Day service, but it was all he could do not to fall asleep in the empty carriages. The long silver board he was carrying drew a few glances, but nobody seemed to think it was anything more than the latest teenage fad.

‘Merry Christmas, Jack,’ he said when he stumbled across the threshold and into her astonished arms. ‘Can I have plum pudding and bed, please?’

*     *     *

When MI6 agents arrived at the station they were told by the staff that teenagers matching the descriptions they gave had been there, and that they had boarded the ten o’clock train, having waited a good twenty minutes for it. In order to have arrived in the station when they did, they would have had to have set off from the Royal and General as soon as they had left Blunt’s office, several minutes before Yassen Gregorovich’s escape had taken place. Of course they had been able to get to the station much more quickly by hoverboarding in a straight line than they would have done by wending their way via public transport, but MI6 didn’t think to factor flight into their calculations. It seemed that the six teenagers couldn’t possibly have broken Gregorovich out of his cell and still have arrived twenty minutes early for their train, and besides, the idea of anyone managing to enter the holding facility without the use of advanced infiltration equipment was ridiculous. Blunt was forced to conclude that someone – Scorpia, or some other contact of Gregorovich’s – had been standing by to pull the assassin out. He had slipped through their fingers yet again.

*     *     *

Yassen rode hard for most of the night, stopping for only a couple of hours when he knew he had to sleep. It was about nine o’clock in the morning when, muscles aching and dizzy with hunger, he arrived in the Cornish village of Port Tallon. There he knocked on the door of an old friend whom he had cultivated during the Stormbreaker assignment: an ex-marine turned fisherman. He had been an expert in covert reconnaissance and on sunny weekends still liked to take the boat across to Brittany and land on unfrequented beaches ‘just to keep the Frogs on the hop.’ After an hour spent sitting astride his friend’s oil-heater, devouring the largest and greasiest breakfast he had had in years, Yassen felt more than equal to making the journey and lending a hand along the way. Once he was in France, it would be easy. There would be no record of his having entered the country, and other contacts there would help him disappear.

‘Do me a favour,’ he said while they drank coffee.

‘Besides taking you on a suicide-dash across the Channel? Joking; you did me a favour by suggesting it. Well, what d’you want?’

‘If I send you a letter, would you post it on to an address in Essex?’ He had a feeling that MI6 would be watching the Non-Conformists’ post. It might be better to have a middle-man.

‘Letter? Who d’you have to send letters to?’

Yassen gave him an answer he knew he would like. ‘A woman.’

‘Why the cloak and dagger? Not ditching her, are you, Gregorovich?’

‘I’m afraid I’ve had to leave her for a while.’

The fisherman sucked his teeth. ‘Be kinder just to cut contact, if you want my opinion,’ he said. ‘But alright.’

Yassen smiled. ‘Thank you.’


	36. Cleanup

'How are you progressing with the clean-up, Dr Three?' Mr Kurst asked.

As Julia Rothman's partner in Ash and Yassen Gregorovich's briefing, Dr Three had been given the task of dealing with the aftermath of the Clara Foster operation. He looked slowly around the table at his fellow board members and cleared his throat before he replied.

'I have spoken with our client,' he said, 'and we agreed that it would be best to terminate the operation. As you know, he originally requested that Foster's death seem accidental, and there is no hope of that now. The secret services and a number of the target's own friends and acquaintances are aware of the situation; if she were to be killed, we could end up with a martyr on our hands. Our client has decided to simply let the matter rest and hope that she does not publish any more controversial poetry. It was only one book, after all; it is unlikely that her influence on the world's thinking will be very great. Besides, she is rather well protected.'

There was a pause. The faces of the board were as impassive as ever, but somehow nobody seemed willing to meet anybody else's eyes. The name of Alex Rider seemed to hover in the air of the board room, as sarcastic a putdown as any the boy himself could have come out with.

Dr Three continued. 'I have also terminated the search for Gregorovich. I consider the effort that it would take to locate a man of his resourcefulness to be disproportionate to the amount of damage he could do to us. He knew more about Scorpia than most agents, certainly, being a better agent himself, but 'more' is still not a great deal. He could not compromise us seriously, and I do not believe that he has any wish to do so. Ash, on the other hand, is a different matter. I am afraid that with his new skills he will be even harder than Gregorovich to locate, but our efforts continue. He remains unique; his body could provide valuable information to whatever organisation or government locates him first. If we manage to recapture him, we make be able to retrieve some of the information lost during the debacle in Scotland. Fortunately most of our research on the workings of the brain remains intact, but those teenagers managed to destroy most of the files detailing the modifications made to Ash's body, which the British research branch had not yet published to the rest of the organisation. The equipment used to perform the surgery was also burnt. With the majority of the Scottish staff in MI6 custody, we cannot hope to regain the advances they made unless we can examine the product of those advances: Ash.'

'But he remains elusive, you say?' the Australian board member asked.

'Yes.'

'Perhaps we should direct our efforts towards liberating those of our agents whom MI6 is holding.'

'Perhaps,' Kurst agreed. 'I shall look into it as a long-term project, but I am afraid it will not be an easy matter.' He turned back to Dr Three. 'And what of Mrs Rothman?'

'Oh, there is no need to worry on that front.' Dr Three rarely smiled, and when he did so now it was enough to make even Zeljan Kurst's stomach turn. 'She has been taken care of.'

At that moment there was a soft knocking on the door, and a woman stepped into the room, pushing a metal trolley with several shelves in front of her.

'Tea or coffee, gentlemen?' she asked.

'Tea would be lovely, thank you,' Dr Three said pleasantly. The other board members were staring in silence. One by one, they were gradually working out what they were seeing, but their brains were still refusing to accept what was right before their eyes.

The woman's dark, very slightly greying curls were tied back beneath a neat service cap. The face beneath them seemed to have aged by twenty years. Its old mask of powder was gone, as was the red lipstick, the mascara, the glimmer of diamonds at ears and throat. But it was more than that. The eyes had changed. The fierce, driven glitter had gone out of them, and when she moved it was not with the sudden poise of a scorpion, but slowly, carefully, as though she wasn't quite sure whether her feet would hit the ground or carry on right through it.

All in all, Dr Three could hardly blame his colleagues for not believing that she was Julia Rothman.

'Our fellow executive managed to escape from the facility shortly before MI6 arrived,' he explained. 'Her staff were not so lucky, but it seems she had contingency plans for herself. When she arrived at my office in Venice I considered shooting her, but one of our medical research teams wanted a subject. All our psychiatric research thus far has been geared towards making a mind more aggressive. Our scientists wished to know if the surgery used on Ash and Gregorovich could be made to work the other way.'

'Would you like sugar, sir?' Mrs Rothman asked.

'Yes please,' Dr Three replied. 'Three cubes.'

All eyes watched as the lumps dropped one by one into the fluted china cup.

'There you are, sir,' Mrs Rothman said, handing Dr Three the cup. She glanced around the table. 'Anyone else…?'

'Oh, uh…' The Australian jerked himself visibly back to his senses. 'Yes, I'll have coffee, please.'

One at a time, the other board members voiced their requests.

'Tea.'

'Coffee.'

'Tea.'

'Tea.'

As Mrs Rothman handed the Australian his cup, her hand shook a little.

'Are you alright, ma'am?' he asked.

'Oh, yes, thank you, I'm quite alright,' she answered. Her voice had changed too: the studied femininity backed with steel was gone; the Welsh accent was more pronounced. She looked to Dr Three and he smiled reassuringly back.

'The surgery was unprecedented and extremely invasive,' he told the room at large. 'It is possible that the doctors overdid it a little.'

Mrs Rothman took no notice of his comment. She continued around the table, handing out drinks, and then nodded and pushed her trolley out of the door again.

'I am sure we are all agreed that an operative who has failed twice – against the same agent – ' there was a collective wince – 'is ripe for retirement. And members to whom retirement is suggested become tiresome. They attempt to prove their worth and only succeed in creating more trouble. They come for revenge and make a mess. I don't like to criticise my colleges, but the idea of putting an assassin as high-profile as Gregorovich on a minor operation such as this – and pairing him with Ash, no less! – was rather unwise. It was necessary to get rid of her somehow.'

There was a silence, but nobody broke it, so Dr Three spoke again. 'I consider this outcome preferable to killing her,' he said. 'You know what it is like when somebody high up in an organisation is removed. Little things that they used to be in charge of suddenly have to be reallocated; agents and contacts who had a link to them become uncooperative or even try to make trouble. Then they have to be dealt with, and that depletes human resources…much better to, ah,  _persuade_  her to quietly step down.'

'Does she  _remember_?' Levi Kroll had found his voice at last. He looked pale.

'The doctors are not sure exactly how much she knows,' Dr Three replied. 'The surgery is still experimental. However, I know that they placed the emphasis on, shall we say, changing her outlook, rather than leaving gaping holes in her memory, which, apparently, a subject tends to notice. As far as I can make out, she just doesn't see things in quite the same way as we do any more. As far as she is concerned, she was once a member of the board and now she is not, and it does not occur to her to wonder why. She seems perfectly content.' He gave a small, satisfied nod, steepling his fingers. 'She is still perfectly happy to discuss operational matters with me; she can even, with a little careful handling, be allowed to convey instructions to agents. We won't have any trouble from her personal contacts, as I said. And, of course, it saves our finding a secure tea lady.'

'Ahem.' Kurst cleared his throat. 'Thank you, Doctor Three. The search for Ash will continue, Foster and Gregorovich can be left to themselves, and Mrs Rothman…has been taken care of. That is all most satisfactory.'

He and Dr Three looked steadily at one another along the length of the table, and he knew that each could see past the other's poker face. The solution to the problem of Julia Rothman was an admirable one, but still he was uneasy. Criminals never trusted one another any more, and after today they would trust each other even less.

Every other member's eyes were still fixed on the door, and Kurst knew that each of them was wondering if they were seeing their own future behind the panelled wood.

Mrs Rothman stepped out into the street and looked up at the grey January sky. Chilly puffs of wind were gusting down the street, and as she watched drops of moisture began so speckle the pavement.

'Oh dear,' she said to the nearest passer-by. 'It's starting to rain.'

'The weather in this country,' he agreed, stopping beside her and opening a large, black umbrella. 'Are you crossing the street? Here, you might as well stay dry.'

'Thank you, dear,' Mrs Rothman smiled. The man offered her his arm, she stepped under the umbrella, and they crossed the road together when the light turned green.

They walked arm in arm as far as a brick bus shelter at the side of the road.

'This is where I stop,' Mrs Rothman said, stepping inside. 'Are you catching a bus?'

'No.' The man shook his head. 'I have a vehicle parked at the edge of town.'

'Really? That's quite a walk.'

'Yeah, but I like walking,' the man said, grinning. He spoke with a slight Australian accent, Mrs Rothman noticed. Now that they were no longer walking side by side and she could look into his face, she saw that his chin and mouth were covered in a thick black scarf, and that he wore the hood of his coat up, throwing his face into shadow. That was all perfectly normal for the time of year, but as she looked into his overcast eyes, they seemed to be glittering strangely. She wondered if she was having one of her funny turns. Those eyes were frightening…

Then suddenly something fell into place in her mind, and she smiled. As he took in her expression the man's face became troubled in its turn. He stared at her from beneath his umbrella, trying to make her out exactly as she had been doing to him a second ago.

Mrs Rothman chuckled. 'Don't worry, dear,' she said. 'I won't tell.'

The man frowned for a moment more, but then he smoothed his expression out and smiled. 'Thanks. It was nice to have met you.'

'You too,' she called after him as he turned and strode off up the darkening road.

He moved at a brisk walk which wouldn't have struck anyone he passed as out of the ordinary. A person following him, however, might have been surprised to find that even though it was a good two and a half miles to the town border, he never once slowed his pace, even when the road began to slope uphill. He walked on past the last of the houses, ignored the public car park and ducked through the hedge into a little stand of trees. They were almost bare now, only a few dead leaves clinging to the branches, but as he pushed deeper even the bare twigs were enough to block out most of the fading daylight, creating a dim bolthole that was soothing and safe.

The man flung off the trench coat which had made him look vaguely respectable, revealing a crumpled and travel-stained set of clothes underneath. He bundled up the coat and pushed it into a large hiker's rucksack which he had produced from beneath a cover of brambles. He shrugged the rucksack on and then rummaged in the leaf litter, pushing the brown leaves aside until he had unearthed the vehicle he had brought to town.

A hoverboard.

He didn't know what had compelled him to risk going right up to one of Scorpia's safe houses. It was a dangerous thing to do, even though he was sure he could out-strip any agent they sent after him now. Speaking to Julia Rothman had been doubly reckless, but when he had seen her in the street he hadn't been able to believe his eyes. He had had to speak to her to make sure. And he would have still believed he was mistaken if she hadn't recognised him.

In a way, though, he wasn't surprised at all. That was what Scorpia did to all its people in the end. They had killed Max Grendel when he wanted to retire. They had sent him himself after Yassen Gregorovich when they believed Yassen was no longer useful. And now Julia Rothman had become another victim of her own experiments. Yet in a way, he wondered whether he should really be pitying her. Was her past life something any person would really want to remember?

Either way, they were both out of it now.

  
Free from Scorpia, free from MI6, and free at last from John and Alex Rider, Ash urged his hoverboard up into the air and swept off down the dark road, into the night.


	37. Epilogue

‘Starbucks coffee,’ Clara said, ‘is always too sweet.’

‘Sugar is good for you,’ Alex retorted. He took a deep gulp of hot chocolate and sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. Outside the café people were hurrying up and down the rain-lashed street, and the shop windows were screaming with red posters advertising the January sales, but their table was a haven of quiet and warmth. Alex wondered whether it was Starbucks’ atmospheric décor that was responsible, or whether it was more to do with the people he was with.

Roberta was sniggering.

‘What?’ Alex asked, opening one eye to scowl at her.

‘You have whipped cream on your nose,’ she smirked.

‘ _I want it with whipped cream on it, baby, gimme gimme gimme your love_ …’ Taylor sang in falsetto. Alex thumped him, touched his tongue to his nose and crossed his eyes at Roberta.

It sounded silly and melodramatic, but over the last few weeks it had been difficult to be apart.

‘Alex!’ the headmaster of Clara’s school had said when Alex and Jack had met with him a few days before the start of term. ‘I was under the impression that you would only be with us until Christmas.’

‘Yes, I know, Sir…my personal situation’s changed and…I’m not really sure what’s happening at the moment, honestly, but for now I’d like to carry on here into the new year. If that’s alright.’

He still hadn’t made up his mind completely about moving. Even though Brookland had been soured by MI6 and all the lies he’d had to tell, it was still _Brookland_ – he’d been going there since he was eleven. And there was Jack to think of, too. Even though London was still a strange city to her, it was more home than some completely unknown town in Essex. There was Tom, James, the old house in Chelsea…if he was ever going to move, it would be hard.

But maybe this was what he needed. A completely fresh start. He could relax into this new school, make other friends, and if MI6 didn’t call him again, nothing would spoil it. And if they did…well, at least the Non-Conformists knew the truth.

Alex pushed the big questions away. Right now, at the end of a first week back at school which seemed to have left all the students more exhausted than they’d been before the holiday, it was nice to just be hanging out, drinking Starbucks’ special ‘seasonal’ coffees and pretending it was still Christmas. Josh was sketching on a napkin without much purpose, just controlling the line and enjoying the texture of pastel sliding onto paper. Jane was sitting beside him, her hands curled for warmth around a cup of loose-leaf tea. She sipped the last few mouthfuls and set the cup down.

‘Shall we?’ Clara said, rising. Taylor got to his feet next, stretching on tip-toe with his hands clasped above his head. It still struck Alex from time to time how _tall_ he was.

Taylor saw him looking. ‘Midget,’ he grinned, scuffing Alex’s hair. Alex beat him off and they stepped out into the street.

‘Horrible weather,’ Clara said, staring up into the grey sky. Most people were hurrying along without pausing, eager to get out of the cold, but a little way down the road three men were standing still around an _Army Jobs_ stall, hands thrust deep into their pockets. ‘I don’t envy those guys…hullo?’

‘Is that…?’ Jane said, peering through the drizzle. ‘Hey, Alex, it’s your army guys! K Unit!’

They hurried down the street and Alex called out. ‘Hey, Ben – Fox! Snake, Eagle!’

The three SAS men turned, and their faces visibly fell. Alex raised an eyebrow.

‘Good to see you too,’ he said. ‘What’re you doing?’

‘What does it look like?’ Ben Daniels growled. He thrust a leaflet at Alex. ‘Join the army?’

Something clicked into place in Alex’s head. He grinned broadly. ‘Recruitment?’

‘Oh, shut up, Cub,’ Eagle muttered.

‘So, your superiors weren’t too happy?’ Alex asked.

‘Bloody hell,’ Snake said. “ _Completely irresponsible…treasonable recklessness…disgrace to the military…_ ” I thought we were going to get shot. Completely humiliating.’

‘Ignore it,’ Roberta said unexpectedly. ‘Bloody megalomaniac-shoot-first-ask-questions-afterwards-control-freak generals. Never act except in accordance with the correct procedure…whatever. As a kidnapping victim, I was satisfied with the response of the SAS.’

‘And as an assassination target, so was I,’ Clara agreed. ‘Though…maybe not at the time. But now I am.’

‘It’s not so bad,’ I suppose,’ Snake said. ‘Better than getting shot at and we’d probably be somewhere cold and wet no matter what, so…’

Fox interrupted him explosively. ‘Of course I prefer handing out leaflets to getting shot at; heck, somebody’s got to do it; but I prefer being shot at to _being laughed at_! God, the lads back at base – ’

‘And the kids on the street are godawful too,’ Eagle said. ‘Either wise-arses who go on about why they don’t want to be in the army or really dense ones who ask _questions_ …stupid questions. Though actually…’ he suddenly chuckled. ‘…Wolf has it worse.’

‘Yeah; where is Wolf?’ Alex asked.

‘Oh Cub, you’re going to love this.’ Eagle tapped him on the shoulder, bringing him in closer. The others leaned in as well. ‘He’s been made a training officer.’

‘Training…?’ Alex started to smile.

‘It’s his job to whip all the horrible little brats out of bed and prowl the aisles at breakfast making sure they don’t kill each other and yell at them during training when the sergeant’s voice-box needs a break. And it is _hilarious_.’

‘Poor chap,’ Clara said.

‘He complains like anything,’ Eagle nodded. ‘But actually, I think he’s getting quite attached to those kids. It’d be ironic if he’d found his calling, wouldn’t it?’

‘Very,’ Alex agreed. He sighed a little.

Fox caught his mood. ‘Hey Cub, don’t feel too bad for us, yeah? We got off lightly. And it was a cracking good adventure, wasn’t it, chaps?’ he added in an exaggerated English accent.

They all laughed, and then waved goodbye to K Unit and tramped on up the street to where Clara’s car was waiting.

When they reached her house, there was a letter lying on the doormat.

‘Airmail,’ Clara said, picking it up. ‘Postmark from Austria…’

Alex felt Roberta change posture beside him. Clara, pretending not to notice, slit the envelope open and unfolded the sheets of close-lined, elegant handwriting inside. She flipped to the end and checked the signature, the others looking over her shoulder.

‘Yassen,’ she said.

It was odd to see the name written out there, in the assassin’s own hand. Alex swallowed once, then said,

‘Read it out, then.’

Clara sat down at the kitchen table and the others settled around her. ‘Um. First there’s a little preliminary bit to me… _I expect that the house where Alex was staying belongs to MI6, so I will be grateful if you pass it on_ , blah blah blah…ah, here’s the main bit.

‘ “ _Dear Alex, Roberta, Taylor, Josh, Clara and Jane,_

_I apologise for not writing more promptly after I left, but I thought it best to let my trail go cold before I risked communicating. In addition, this letter may have taken a while to reach you, since I have passed it back through a few contacts for safety’s sake. I enclose an address to which you may reply, if you feel so inclined._

_So, what news? Forgive me; it has been a while since I wrote a purely sociable letter. I will describe my current place of residence to you, since I think you would all enjoy it; in fact it is wasted on me by comparison. With the help of certain friends I made my way to France, and then through the mountains from Switzerland into Austria. I am sure Clara would have been able to make a good story out of the hike, which was…exciting. We skied down to a town which I will not name, where Christmas and New Year celebrations have been in full swing. There are lights, mulled wine, roasted chestnuts, gingerbread, dancing, live music. Snow.” ’_

Roberta took a breath.

 _‘ “As I said, you would all be in your element here. I am sure you could knock spots off the group I heard play last night, at least as far as technique is concerned. As regards style, I hope that you will not confine your considerable talents to popular music only.”_ Isn’t that gratifying,’ Clara interrupted herself. ‘That’s a point; we could have a little chamber choir going here if we wanted.’

‘Oh God,’ Alex said. ‘Read on.’

‘ “ _It is a pleasant place to pause and take stock of what I suppose is a life in ruins, but does not feel like one. There is skiing and ice-skating, which for once do not feel like training, and all the culture one could ask for. I may be dead tomorrow, but then so might any of us, and I find that I do not particularly care. Not because I am tired of life, but because of a thought which occurred to me the last time I was with all of you. It is this: life is there to be_ spent. _All humans preserve themselves carefully from risk, and none more carefully than assassins, but presumably this is so that they will not ‘waste’ their life on being shot, or run over, and have it to ‘spend’ on something else. And ‘spending,’ in the end, involves risk. If one spends one’s whole life protecting oneself, one will have little time to spend on anything else. I have decided to stop watching my back and enjoy myself, and if you, Clara, decide that you want to spend your life publishing controversial poetry and being shot at for it, I shall not criticise you.”_

‘Then there’s a little note like that to each of us,’ Clara finished. She passed the paper to Jane first.

 _“Jane_ ,” she read silently, _“it was very astute of you to notice from the callouses on my fingers that I was a violinist. Despite what I said about being tired of watching my back, I still approve of good observation. Have you ever considered working in intelligence?”_

‘If so, stop now,’ Jane added quietly to herself, and handed the letter to Taylor.

 _“I am fond of music,”_ his note read. _“I know what a good voice sounds like. You have one. I wish you good luck in pursuing what I am sure will be an illustrious career in singing.”_

_“Josh, I am impressed.”_

_“Roberta, I would not be good at writing a love note, and I doubt you would be good at receiving one. I will simply say this: you seem to question the worth of the world and life in it, but I assure you they are worth something; you are in them. Even when you don’t feel like it, carry on as you are for others’ sake; they need your ability and your brilliance.”_

Alex took the last page of the letter somewhat apprehensively, swallowed and read:

_“Having spent a little more time with you, Alex, I think I would approve of you just as much had I not known your father. My regards for the future, and for goodness’ sake remember to keep your weight on the back foot when you kick._

_“Yassen.”_

‘Well,’ Alex said. He folded the letter. It was the last thing he had expected, but his throat felt a little tight. He coughed once and then looked around. ‘Um. Philosophical letter.’

‘I like him,’ Clara said, smiling vaguely.

‘You, my dear soprano, are insane,’ Taylor said. Clara laughed and looped her arm through his.

‘Cool guy,’ Josh said. ‘Probably evil. Cool guy, though. Fascinating bone structure.’

‘I wonder when we’ll be seeing him again,’ Jane said.

Alex sat up straighter. It had occurred to him that they might, of course, but to hear it suggested so matter-of-factly, as something expected…Clara, however, didn’t look surprised at all. As she gazed off into the middle distance, the light caught her eyes for a moment, giving them a bright, sudden gleam.

‘Where,’ she agreed, ‘and under what circumstances?’


End file.
